


Suits You

by forthegreatergood



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Cunnilingus, Developing Relationship, Dirty Talk, Dress Up, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Frottage, Light Angst, M/M, Misunderstandings, Mutual Pining, Pining, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Sexual Roleplay, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-25
Updated: 2020-01-26
Packaged: 2021-02-21 23:34:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 22,592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22405747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/forthegreatergood/pseuds/forthegreatergood
Summary: After six thousand years of pining, an angel and a demon can finally get a few things out of their respective systems.“All right, you can look.”Aziraphale let his hands drop to his lap and opened his eyes, the small, anticipatory smile on his face vanishing as he took in the scene in front of him.  Crowley’s half-spread wings were limned with golden fire and under that, a vivid, inviting cream that Aziraphale wanted nothing more than to bury his face in.“Angel?” Crowley asked, his wings lowering slightly and a hesitant frown creasing his brow.“Oh, Crowley, you’re magnificent,” Aziraphale breathed.Crowley relaxed at that, his lips tugging up and his wings spreading farther. “Well, be at peace, angel, for I bring you glad tidings.”“You don’t need to do the--”“The gladdest of tidings, indeed,” Crowley interrupted, barely keeping a straight face around the smirk that kept trying to put in an appearance, “for lo, tomorrow the bookshop opens late and tonight I’m not wearing anything under these robes.”
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 35
Kudos: 299





	1. Red Dress

**Author's Note:**

> All characters property of Terry Pratchett, Neil Gaiman, and the respective production and licensing companies.
> 
> Thank you to [foxyk](https://archiveofourown.org/users/foxyk/pseuds/foxyk) for betaing!

Aziraphale turned, tugging at the hem of his dress. It had been such a long time since he’d gone abroad as a lady, and skirts were so much shorter these days. It didn’t quite feel decent.

He stopped and blushed almost as red as the fabric. Not feeling quite decent was rather the point, wasn’t it? Though maybe Crowley hadn’t meant it that way, when he’d complimented Aziraphale on the dress before. Crowley had sounded as if he meant it that way, all brash swagger and smoldering looks, but then he’d also been literally smoldering and had turned around the next moment and addressed the soldier on gate duty as “Army human.” 

Aziraphale frowned and plucked at the black lace cuffs on his sleeves. He hadn’t asked, afterward, what Crowley had meant by it. It had been a nice thought, and he hadn’t wanted to spoil it if Crowley had just been saying something to say something. He hadn’t wanted to spoil the surprise, if Crowley had been saying something he’d been meaning to say for centuries.

But what if he was wrong? He’d been wrong about so many things, lately--wrong about Heaven, wrong about Hell, wrong about the Antichrist, wrong about the Great Plan, wrong about turning away from Crowley. This was probably the least important thing he could possibly be wrong about, but he wasn’t sure he could bear it if he was wrong about it, too.

He turned the other way, examining himself in the mirror one last time, then jumped and gave an extraordinarily undignified yelp when he looked up from his hem to find Crowley’s reflection in the mirror as well.

“Sorry, angel!” Crowley laughed, holding up his hands. “I didn’t want to interrupt.”

Aziraphale spun, arms instinctively crossing over his corporation to preserve his modesty, his parasympathetic nervous system gamely but unhelpfully trying to remember what was currently considered taboo all on its own. Not that his brain was any more use in the breech; he simply hadn’t been paying enough attention lately to know.

“I’ll just, ah, give you a moment, then, shall I?” Crowley asked, trying not to laugh harder. The wretch didn’t even bother straightening from the door jamb he was slouched against. 

Aziraphale could feel his face turning beet red, but it helped, that the glimpse he’d gotten of Crowley’s face in the mirror had been unabashedly fond, and loving, and more than a little lustful. He took a deep breath and let his arms fall to his sides, then squared his shoulders and lifted his chin. “I didn’t expect you until later.”

“I didn’t expect myself until later, but then it…” Crowley let his gaze run over the dress, down Aziraphale’s legs, and then back up to the embroidered bodice. 

Aziraphale fought the urge to cross his arms over his chest and across his legs, and he tried harder to get his blush under control. 

“It felt like you wanted me,” Crowley finished softly, smiling. He let his head rest on the wall. “Wasn’t wrong, was I? Should I go?”

“That depends,” Aziraphale said haughtily, “on whether or not you can behave yourself for the next hour or so until I’m ready.”

“Behave myself? Around you?” Crowley pushed himself upright and sauntered toward him. “Perish the thought, angel.”

“Crowley!”

Crowley grinned at that, wide and mischievous and showing too many teeth. He prowled around Aziraphale, slow and deliberate, and Aziraphale was surprised to realize that his hands were trembling. 

The dress, he thought, had been a mistake. Too much, too soon. 

Crowley paused directly behind him, his breath raising gooseflesh on the back of Aziraphale’s neck.

“Such a lovely dress,” Crowley said, and his voice raised gooseflesh all the way down Aziraphale’s spine. Or maybe not a mistake, maybe just a cliff he’d stood himself up at the edge of, afraid because he’d forgotten he had wings. “Special occasion?”

“Just thought I’d try something new,” Aziraphale lied, cursing the way his own voice cracked with it.

“Well, if you were looking for a second opinion, I very much approve.” Crowley leaned closer, and Aziraphale could feel the infernal grin stretching his lips. “ _Suits you._ ”

Aziraphale let go of the breath he’d been half holding and looked up. Crowley’s hands were hovering at his elbows, waiting, and he could feel Crowley’s lips almost at his neck. The gold-trimmed band collar would keep the demon’s teeth off that favorite spot at the juncture of throat and shoulder, but it still left plenty of other places for him to latch onto. Aziraphale let himself sway back slightly, giving the hoped-for permission.

Crowley hummed to himself, pleased, and brushed his lips over the nape of Aziraphale’s neck. His hands wrapped around Aziraphale’s biceps, eager and grasping and too damned light. They slid down Aziraphale’s arms, letting the dark tulle of the sleeves rustle between tender fingers, then slid back up with a bit more intent.

“Suits you very well indeed,” Crowley growled, pressing his lips to the skin just behind Aziraphale’s ear. Aziraphale shuddered with it, cheeks heating for reasons that had nothing to do with how revealing the dress felt. “But you know where I think it could be shown off to best effect?”

“If you say on your bedroom floor, I’m going to banish you,” Aziraphale said crossly. Was it so much, to expect a little originality after six thousand years of denial?

“I would never,” Crowley assured him, with that shameless quickness that had Aziraphale steeling himself against the other shoe dropping before the demon’s mouth even opened again. “A dress this fine would be carefully draped over the headboard.”

“Incorrigible,” Aziraphale muttered. He’d spent so many hours agonizing over the dress, so far outside his normal repertoire, and it rankled slightly, that Crowley refused to treat it with the gravity it deserved.

Crowley’s thumbs drew careful circles over the tender crook of his elbows, and a forked tongue flicked at the delicate skin at Aziraphale’s hairline. “Good thing that’s why you love me, innit?”

Aziraphale felt a brief prickle at that, the discomfort of a joke that wasn’t entirely a joke, the unhappy tension of a break he didn’t know how to mend. His irritation with Crowley’s teasing evaporated. _I love you for so much more than that, my dear._

The things Crowley wouldn’t let him say, even now. The things Crowley couldn’t bear to hear out of his mouth, now or maybe ever. Aziraphale had tried, had gone blundering into that thicket with no idea how sharp the thorns were, and had almost ruined everything before it even got a chance to start. He should have known better; wounds six millennia in the making and recently ripped open wouldn’t heal over in just a few months.

“What’ll we do, then?” Crowley asked, kissing his way down to the collar. “If it’s not to be left on the floor, and it’s not to be draped over the headboard, what’s it for?” He stepped away and offered his hand. “Shall I take you dancing? It hardly seems fair, ruining the night for everyone who won’t be going home with you.”

Aziraphale took Crowley’s hand hesitantly, then gasped when the demon twirled him around and made his skirt flare up.

“Oh.” Crowley stared at him, wide-eyed and delighted, a blush finally rising on his own cheeks. Aziraphale wanted to hide his face in his hands even as he wanted to bask in it, to soak it up like a sponge, _don’t look at me_ warring with _worship me_. It was so much more than indecent, the things Crowley made him want. “Oh, angel.”

“I didn’t know what’s worn under skirts these days,” Aziraphale confessed, feeling a trifle foolish even if Crowley was obviously and tremendously pleased with his choice of undergarments.

“A little more and a little less, all at once,” Crowley said, smirking. “Though I have to tell you, I like what you’ve come up with a lot better.”

He stepped close, one arm wrapping around Aziraphale’s waist and the other taking his hand. He hummed a boisterous, half-right version of “Sway” and led Aziraphale in a clumsy tango, too keen on keeping Aziraphale pressed against him to worry about the beat or what they might crash into.

“You got all dressed up,” Crowley said, moving them in a slow circle around the room. “You must’ve had someplace to go.”

Aziraphale licked his lips and tried for bolder than he felt. “I thought you might like it. I just… it seemed like it would be fun.”

“An angel like you in a dress like this can have all the fun he wants,” Crowley purred, kissing him again. Aziraphale tried and failed not to melt with it, and Crowley held him closer. “Say the word, love--I’m entirely at your disposal.”

Aziraphale shivered at the dark, slithering _something_ in Crowley’s tone that made it sound absolutely filthy, shivered at that and at the answering spike of heat that flared sweet and molten between his thighs.

“Do you think the heels are too much?” he asked, pulling away and pointing his foot to better show off the shoes he’d picked. Red satin to match his dress, with a low kitten heel and a clever little buckle with a black bow across the bridge.

“Hmm.” Crowley crowded him back against a wall, then dropped to one knee in front of him. He lifted Aziraphale’s foot and rested it on his knee, and his brows furrowed as if he was considering a very serious question. Aziraphale swallowed thickly, his breath going shallow in anticipation at the feel of Crowley’s hands curled loosely around his ankle and his calf. “No, not too much. I think they’re just darling, really. But silk stockings, angel?”

Crowley clicked his tongue and shook his head, fingers sliding up Aziraphale’s legs, deliciously warm through the fabric.

“I do have standards, you know,” Aziraphale said primly.

“Yes, and they’re all from going on a century ago,” Crowley sighed, shaking his head more decisively. “No, it won’t do. I’m sorry, but they’re going to have to come off.”

Aziraphale crossed his arms and leaned back against the wall for balance, tossing his curls. “They shall not.”

“Now then, don’t be difficult,” Crowley scolded, his eyes dancing. “I’ll help--it’s no trouble.”

His hands reached the top of the stocking, fingertips brushing over bare skin, and Aziraphale couldn’t help the gasp that left him at that. Crowley pretended disappointment and frowned, pressing his warm palm to the inner curve of Aziraphale’s thigh and curling his fingers around the back of it, nails tracing the silk ribbon Aziraphale had used for the garters. Aziraphale shivered and let his knee splay wider, aching under his skirt, and Crowley sucked at his teeth, seeming too absorbed in his task to notice the reaction he’d provoked.

“How did you get the belt managed?” Crowley pursed his lips and traced the ribbon up to the tender crease where thigh met buttock, his thumb brushing the crisp curls over Aziraphale’s sex seemingly by accident. The split-seamed pantalets ladies had worn under their skirts once upon a time had been obviously too big to conceal under such a short dress, and so Aziraphale had just left it at the stockings and garterbelt. He’d known it hadn’t been quite right, but now he couldn’t regret it.

“Mmm.” Aziraphale canted his hips slightly and looked down at Crowley. The wicked beast was gazing back up at him guilelessly, all concentration and sober disapproval. “The tie is just a little farther up, I think. You’ve almost got it.”

Crowley let his other hand stray higher, the pad of his thumb sliding tenderly against the slick mound of Aziraphale’s clit, and Aziraphale couldn’t help but buck against him.

“Nothing there, angel,” Crowley told him, cheeks flushing and voice going soft. “You’re hoping to throw me off, aren’t you? Impudent thing, trying to trick me like that. I’ll just have to take a closer look, won’t I?”

He lowered Aziraphale’s foot to the floor, the other hand straying to Aziraphale’s hip to steady him, and then got both knees underneath himself and wriggled closer, the heat of him warming Aziraphale’s skin like a radiator. He lifted the hem of Aziraphale’s dress, the sudden coolness of the air on Aziraphale’s legs contrasting deliciously with Crowley’s body heat. Crowley’s fingers went careful and his touch light, as if either of them couldn’t miracle any wrinkles out of the fabric with a thought.

“Hmph. Just a little farther up,” Crowley echoed, tossing his hair. “Such pretty fibs you think nothing of telling, angel. Plain as day the problem’s right here.”

He dipped his head, and Aziraphale gasped as Crowley’s breath ghosted over his labia, thick and warm with promise. He paused there, not quite close enough, and Aziraphale curled one hand in his hair and nudged him forward.

“I was very careful with the knots,” he said, shocked at the steadiness of his voice around the pounding of his heart. “Wouldn’t do, to have a stocking slip because the stay came loose. I think you’ll need to take a _very_ close look, if you want to untie them.”

“Is that so?” Crowley let Aziraphale’s hand guide him, his lips brushing Aziraphale’s clit as he spoke.

When his tongue darted out, long and slender and forked, Aziraphale couldn’t help the high-pitched little cry, couldn’t help his hips jerking forward, couldn’t help the hand in Crowley’s hair going tight and wanting.

Aziraphale looked down, dragging the bunched fabric of his skirt out of the way so that he could see those beautiful golden eyes looking up at him, see the lace of his cuff setting off that lovely red hair, see the adoration on that handsome face. Crowley’s jaw shifted, and that clever tongue dragged through Aziraphale’s folds, and Aziraphale found himself more held up by the wall than standing under his own power.

Crowley hummed contentedly, and the sound seemed to echo all the way up Aziraphale’s spine. Crowley did it again just to feel Aziraphale squirm against him, and Aziraphale couldn’t bring himself to care, not so long as the demon kept doing it, kept his tongue moving, kept finding every last tender, overheated spot between Aziraphale’s thighs and lavishing attention on it.

“Let me take you to bed, angel,” Crowley murmured, putting a thumb on the scale with one last teasing flick of his tongue.

Aziraphale pouted, letting his fingers spasm in Crowley’s pretty hair. “I’ll let you take me anywhere you want, as soon as you finish.”

Crowley sat back and cocked his head, a wicked smile on his wet lips. “Anywhere?”

“Fiend,” Aziraphale groaned, trying to tug him back into position. “Yes, anywhere!”

Crowley’s smile somehow found a way to be even more mischievous, and Aziraphale didn’t care one whit so long as the demon stopped holding him at the edge and let him climax.

Crowley let Aziraphale guide him, let Aziraphale pull his head artlessly against his throbbing cunt, took pity on him and opened his mouth. Aziraphale melted against the wall, Crowley’s arms the only other thing holding him--Crowley was sucking, and licking, and pressing gentle teeth against aching flesh, and all of it was too much. When Aziraphale came, it was like spreading his wings on that first morning and letting the brand new sun warm them to the bone, like feeling the fresh breeze of a brand new world blow through his feathers.

They’d done this so often now, and still every time it was some new sort of splendid, some novel study in joy and pleasure, and Aziraphale was sure he would never get enough of it.

He panted softly, getting his breath back, and Crowley braced his shaking thighs with narrow shoulders. A hot, damp kiss pressed to the bare skin of his inner thigh made Aziraphale quiver, and he ran his fingers through Crowley’s hair.

“Take me to bed, love?” Aziraphale asked.

“Bed?” Crowley repeated, grinning. “I think not, angel. You promised, remember?”

Aziraphale’s lips pursed. If not the bed, then where? He’d thought Crowley was just toying with him, extracting promises he had no intention of availing himself of.

“It’s your fault for making yourself so irresistible, you know,” Crowley said, kissing his other thigh. “I’ll have you right here in front of the looking glass, so I can see every inch of you at once.”

“Crowley!” Aziraphale gasped, his eyes going to the mirror and then back to those golden pools looking up at him with utter abandon. It was too much, being asked to see his own reflection while they did _this_.

“Come now, angel. No playing coy,” Crowley purred, hands slipping under the back of the garterbelt and squeezing gently. He got to his feet and pulled Aziraphale after him, then sat down on the rug in front of the mirror. His trousers vanished with a snap of his fingers, and he tugged at Aziraphale’s hand, urging him with nimble fingers and burning eyes to straddle Crowley’s thighs.

Aziraphale glanced behind himself, flushing hot at the idea of Crowley watching them in the looking glass, eyes on their reflection even as his hands roved over Aziraphale’s skin. Better than them both being able to see, better than Crowley asking him to watch himself be the object of such attention, but still.

“I can cover it, if you really don’t want to,” Crowley said softly, guiding Aziraphale into his lap.

“It’s a bit… much, isn’t it?” Aziraphale asked. Crowley snapped his fingers, and Aziraphale heard the rustle of cloth on glass. Maybe it wouldn’t seem like so much later, the same way he’d never have dared miracle up a dress like this even a few weeks ago.

He let Crowley position him, knees sliding to either side of the demon’s slender thighs. He fit so perfectly in Crowley’s arms, cradled against Crowley’s chest, that he almost missed Crowley’s fingers on the zipper at the back of his dress. It wasn’t until the cool air hit the back of his neck that he twigged to the demon’s little stratagem.

“I won’t let you throw it on the floor, so you’ll have me on the floor instead?” he asked tartly.

“I would never,” Crowley chuckled, pulling the zipper down, his eyes fastened to the collar where it was coming loose from Aziraphale’s throat. He eased the edges of the bodice apart and down, and Aziraphale squirmed as the dress began sliding off his shoulders. Crowley’s breath quickened, pupils going wide and black as the dress slipped, and Aziraphale couldn’t help clasp his arms over his chest.

“Should I have…” Aziraphale looked away and bit his lip. “Did you want a… a bosom?”

“I’ve already got the most perfect bosom the world has ever seen right in front of me. Why should I want anything more?” Crowley asked, fitting his face against Aziraphale’s throat and dragging his teeth across the delicate skin there. 

His hands found Aziraphale’s, fingers twining together, and he gently guided Aziraphale’s hands away from his chest. The bodice slipped more, exposing the pale pink buds of Aziraphale’s nipples, and Crowley moved down the line of his collarbone, pressing kisses as he went. He tucked his head against Aziraphale’s breast and wrapped his arms around Aziraphale’s waist, and Aziraphale hugged him close, fingers digging into Crowley’s back and Crowley’s hair.

“However it is you are, angel, that’s how I would have you,” Crowley told him, hair falling across his face, across Aziraphale’s skin. “I have never found you anything short of wonderful, in any form or shape or time.” His arms tightened, and he nuzzled the barely-there swell of Aziraphale’s comfortably-padded chest. “There’s nothing you could show me that I wouldn’t find pleasing, so long as it made you happy.”

Aziraphale swallowed and buried his face in Crowley’s hair. It was too much, wasn’t it? Flattery, or a terminal lowering of standards courtesy of Hell, or--

Aziraphale yelped and Crowley leaned back and grinned as if he hadn’t just nipped the soft skin at the edge of Aziraphale’s collarbone.

“You know that sometimes you doubt yourself so badly I can feel it leaking out of you?” Crowley asked, his tone conversational. 

Aziraphale scowled at him. “You’re still not allowed to bite me, you beast.”

“I’m a beast now, am I?” Crowley grinned and kissed him. “If that’s what you want, angel.” He brushed his lips over Aziraphale’s earlobe and sucked it between his teeth, nibbling fragile skin with a carefulness that belied his words. “Why settle for self-doubt when you could have something much more pleasant leaking out of you instead?”

He rolled his hips under Aziraphale’s thighs, and Aziraphale gaped at him.

“You mustn’t be so vulgar,” he scolded, cheeks hot as when Crowley had first discovered his lack of pantalets.

“Beast,” Crowley reminded him, fingertips coming up to stroke over the skin of Aziraphale’s exposed back, light as if he was handling something priceless and infinitely delicate. Aziraphale arched at the touch, feeling the desire of it skip down his spine to make his cunt tighten. “A beast with a beautiful angel in his arms. Poor thing, left to the doubtful mercies of a fiend.”

“Stop it,” Aziraphale sighed, taking Crowley’s face in his hands. He kissed Crowley’s forehead, then dipped his head to nudge Crowley’s mouth open, brushing his tongue against that serpent’s fork. “Don’t call yourself that.”

“How quickly an angel forgets,” Crowley scoffed, leaning into the kiss and letting his nails rake down Aziraphale’s back. It was harder this time, enough to leave tingling paths on the skin, and Aziraphale let his fingers tighten on the back of Crowley’s head.

Aziraphale couldn’t think straight, couldn’t name the difference between what it was when he called Crowley a beast and a fiend and what it was when Crowley named himself such. There was venom in it, when Crowley said it. Aziraphale couldn’t mean it, couldn’t help the love that had always underpinned it. Crowley couldn’t _not_ mean it, not yet.

“I’m allowed,” Aziraphale said instead, putting every imperious demand of the last thousand years into it. He’d been able to bring the demon to heel more often than not, gotten him to sit and stay and roll over, to lick his chops and drool at the thought of some eventual reward for his obedience. Aziraphale used Crowley’s hair as a handle, making Crowley look up into his eyes. “You’re not.”

“That’s how it’s to be, is it?” Crowley asked, flicking his tongue out and smirking.

Well, two could play at that game. Aziraphale licked his lips, slow and bashful, and Crowley knew exactly what he was doing and still went dark-eyed and mesmerized with it.

“That’s exactly how it will be,” Aziraphale told him. “I won’t have you speaking that way about someone I love.”

Crowley’s fingers tightened involuntarily, digging into Aziraphale’s hips, and Crowley flushed dark and looked away.

“Fighting dirty now, are you?” Crowley reached between them and shoved his boxers down, freeing his cock. “If you think you can beat me at my own game, you’ve another thing coming, angel.”

He pulled Aziraphale forward by his hips, the blood-warm head of his cock sliding against Aziraphale’s slick folds, and Aziraphale threw his arms around Crowley’s shoulders. “Careful, dear!”

Crowley stopped and glanced up, brows knitting. “Too hard?”

“My stockings…” Aziraphale tipped his head down to where the silk had snagged on the rug’s pile and begun laddering at the knee. 

Crowley blinked slowly, the flush on his cheeks deepening, and Aziraphale swallowed. How had he ever lived without seeing that look directed at him on a regular basis? He’d thought it was something, when Crowley would let his smile go lascivious and wanton, when Crowley would say something suggestive and then laugh when Aziraphale pretended to be scandalized. They’d been play-acting, a commedia dell’arte with rote lines and gross characterization, satisfying only because they’d never had better.

“If I promise to fix them later, can we leave them that way for now?” Crowley asked.

“You just like seeing me with my knees dirty,” Aziraphale said, pouting.

Crowley grinned like he might unhinged his jaw and swallow something whole and nudged Aziraphale’s hips farther up his thighs. “Dirty knees, hands pink and filthy from bracing on the ground while I take you from behind, trousers rumpled--”

Aziraphale’s hips jerked as Crowley’s cock pressed against him, not quite at the right angle to slip inside. He wriggled closer just as Crowley tried to fix the problem by tilting his hips, only to send the offending member sliding off target in the other direction. “Damn it!”

“Patience, angel,” Crowley murmured, his chuckle turning into a sharp hiss when Aziraphale bore down slightly.

“Strike while the iron’s hot, love,” Aziraphale retorted, raising himself just enough for Crowley to see what he was doing. Crowley paused for a second to lean back and look at him, his smile going unfocused and loving.

“You’re too beautiful for words sometimes, you know that?” he muttered, right before he took himself in hand and slid his cock into that waiting quim. 

Aziraphale braced himself on Crowley’s shoulders and gave himself over to the swell, the stretch, that lovely feeling of completion. Crowley’s arms wrapped around his back, and Aziraphale expected any moment to be crushed to the demon’s chest. It was a pleasant but sudden surprise to feel a sinuous tongue drag over one nipple, and Aziraphale’s eyes flew open at it.

“You’re sure you don’t want breasts?” Aziraphale asked, clinging to Crowley’s shoulders as the demon rocked up into him.

“Angel, I’ll happily bury my face in however many tits you want to manifest, but I promise you I’m also quite content with their absence.” 

Crowley kissed his way back up to Aziraphale’s shoulder and dropped his hands to squeeze Aziraphale’s plush ass. He groaned and thrust harder, the short strokes he could manage from where he sat coming more quickly and at a sharper angle. Aziraphale met him thrust for thrust, shoving himself down and back onto the demon’s cock, feeling the shock of it all the way to the core of him, every tug and pull of his labia against Crowley’s skin sending electric jolts through his clit.

“Satan help me,” Crowley panted, “I could never get enough of you, not if we spent the next thousand years making up for lost time.”

“Tell me,” Aziraphale hissed, fingers digging into Crowley’s back. He could barely resist the urge to shove his hand between them and bring himself off immediately, fingers questing for his clit, teasing and rubbing for the bare moment it would take. He wanted it so badly, almost as badly as he wanted it to last just a bit longer, just a bit more, just a bit…

“I should have taken you in that alley in Rome,” Crowley growled, arms going tighter, face shoved into Aziraphale’s hair, breath harsh against Aziraphale’s throat. “You’d had so much wine, and you wouldn’t stop blushing. I should have pushed you against the wall and torn that toga off you and seen just how far down the flush went. You’d have loved it, wouldn’t you, me filling you up and fucking you there where anyone could have seen us, sinking my teeth into that lily-petal throat of yours. You’d have protested all for show and wrapped yourself around me like an octopus--”

Aziraphale arched, the climax tearing through him like a sheet of lightning. Crowley’s hands went splayed and firm against his back, keeping him from tipping too far in his ecstasy, and then guided him back against the demon’s chest when he finally went loose and boneless. Crowley kissed his cheek, then nudged at his lips and kissed him with an agonizing thoroughness, a bee determined to plunder a flower of every last drop of nectar.

“Precious thing.” Crowley ran reverent fingers through sweat-damp blond curls. “Shall I lay us down?”

Aziraphale considered the question with all the wherewithal remaining to him, which wasn’t, he had to admit, very much. He didn’t want to stir from Crowley’s lap, didn’t want to lose that member skewering him even for a moment. “I suppose you deserve to finish, too.”

“How magnanimous of you,” Crowley laughed. He shifted their combined weight carefully, then began rocking up into Aziraphale again, slowly and carefully this time. Aziraphale groaned and tucked his face into the crook of Crowley’s neck, every thrust a delicious drag of nails over an itch he could never scratch deeply enough. “I could finish just by looking at you, you ridiculous principality.”

“Give me another minute or so, then?” Aziraphale asked hopefully. Crowley’s skin was so warm, and the air on his back was so cool. Was this how Crowley felt when he was a serpent, seeking out that sweet contact almost without conscious thought, like a thirsty man reaching for his cup?

“I can give you days and days, if that’s what you want,” Crowley said, lying through his too-sharp teeth. Aziraphale could hear how badly he wanted to come in the stain of his voice, taste it in the salt on his skin.

“You remember that time in Trier when you slipped on the ice?” he asked, sitting forward so that he could feel Crowley more deeply.

“Just my blessed luck,” Crowley huffed, his eyes closing against Aziraphale’s skin. “Taken to bed by an angel and too cold-addled to even try copping a feel.”

“It was like torture, having you there like that and no excuse whatsoever to let my hands wander,” Aziraphale told him. Crowley grunted in surprise, his arms curling tight and possessive around Aziraphale’s back. “You were so beautiful, and so pliant. You’d have let me do anything I liked and then whimpered for more, so long as I kept you warm, and I couldn’t even come up with the flimsiest reason to--”

Crowley groaned and flexed under him, spilling and thrusting hard and then spilling again, his hold on Aziraphale so close it was as if he was trying to meld them into one being. Aziraphale gave up and slipped a hand under his skirt, burrowing between them and finding the spot where his clit was pressed against Crowley’s pelvis, not quite getting enough friction to do anything. He got it between his fingers and stroked twice, then came again, cunt twitching and tightening around Crowley’s softening cock.

Crowley exhaled as if he’d been punched, keening into Aziraphale’s throat, and Aziraphale finally went completely slack against him. Crowley lowered them to the rug and rolled them over, disengaging carefully and smoothing Aziraphale’s skirt down and tugging his bodice up as he went. He might as well have been a snake again for all the bones he seemed to have when he wrapped himself around Aziraphale, leg thrown over his thigh and arms winding around his chest. Crowley snapped his fingers languidly, and Aziraphale felt the stockings mend themselves over his skin.

“Would you really have liked me to, back in Trier?” Aziraphale asked softly. He’d been terrified in equal measure of Crowley welcoming such an overture and Crowley rejecting it, once he’d stopped being terrified of Crowley discorporating.

“Give me credit for having some self-preservation instincts, angel,” Crowley said, sucking indolently at Aziraphale’s bare shoulder. “I wanted you from pretty much the first moment I laid eyes on you, but I’d gotten extremely fond of not being stabbed to death by then, too.” He smirked. “You think I’m beautiful?”

Aziraphale glared at him, satiation robbing it of any possible heat. “Really?”

“Well, I know blessed well you weren’t really plotting to take advantage of me,” Crowley said. He closed his eyes as Aziraphale’s fingers found his hair, carding through the copper curls slowly and sure of it being welcome. “You turned me out practically the second I was recovered enough not to discorporate from it.”

“I was too worried that you were going to die at the time,” Aziraphale said, wriggling unhappily. Why had he confessed any of it? Crowley had started it, with his talk of that alley behind Petronius’s. He wouldn’t have let Crowley then, either, would have been too frightened and too careful. “It was only after, when you’d thawed out and come to enough to use your powers again, that I couldn’t help but think…”

“What, that I might want a bit of help warming the bed?” Crowley asked, his grin wide and sly. “That I’d be a willing vessel for however much holy fire you wanted to pour into me? Spread out for you like a sacrifice on an altar, waiting to be consumed at your leisure?”

Aziraphale squirmed, his skin heating at Crowley’s words, and he tangled his fingers in Crowley’s hair and tugged at it, reining him in.

“Poor thing,” Crowley said, his smirk fading into a melancholy smile. “You thought I was going to try to tempt you, didn’t you?”

“I’d have given in,” Aziraphale told him. “Of course I thought you were going to try.”

“Mm. You didn’t have anything to worry about, angel.” Crowley slithered closer, holding Aziraphale tighter against him. “I was still too weak to protect myself--I wouldn’t have provoked you like that, not just then.”

Aziraphale hugged the demon tight against his chest at that. He’d spent a lot of time not trusting Crowley and being afraid of Crowley; it had never once occurred to him that he should want to harm Crowley. “I’d never have hurt you. You do know that, don’t you?”

“Well, I do _now_ ,” Crowley said, rolling his eyes. “Bit of a different calculation fifty years after a nice dinner where I picked up the tab and you graciously refrained from poisoning me. Especially when I wake up naked in a pile of furs and a little fuzzy on how I got there, and the first thing you do is try to pour the most vile concoction known to man down my throat.”

“It was a restorative!” Aziraphale cried. If he’d known then that a little miracle here and there wouldn’t have done Crowley any harm, he’d have just used magic instead of bothering with the tea in the first place. He hadn’t, though; he might as well wish he’d known Crowley’s heart back then, into the bargain.

“It was awful,” Crowley said firmly, his tongue flicking against Aziraphale’s skin. “I thought for a few seconds that you’d changed your mind about poisoning me and decided to give it a proper go.”

“Crowley.”

“Mmm?” Crowley lifted his head, not bothering to put his tongue back in his mouth. Adorable, vulgar beast. Aziraphale tucked it back between his lips with the edge of one thumb, then sighed when Crowley stuck it right back out again, this time the mischievous intent clear on his face.

“Take me to bed.”

Crowley chuckled and pulled himself upright, getting to his knees and then gathering Aziraphale into his arms. “Yours or mine, angel?”

“Mine.” He had no intention of giving the demon a bed half the size of a bus to slither away from him and hide in, not right now. Aziraphale threw his arms around Crowley’s neck and clung tight as Crowley got to his feet. There was a heat to Crowley’s eyes when he carried Aziraphale like this, a need to the way his arms coiled and his hands clutched, that made Aziraphale thrill with it.

The dress, it turned out, looked absolutely perfect draped over his headboard.


	2. That Time in Trier

“Crowley, you’re not asleep already, are you?” Aziraphale asked impatiently, poking his head just past the jamb. 

He had half a mind to ban Crowley from the bedroom above the shop when he wasn’t in it with the demon; it was so much harder to keep tabs on Crowley’s errant napping when he slithered off to some out of the way place to do it. Aziraphale had never met such an itinerant sleeper, but then again he’d never met anyone else who both slept and could do so on a ceiling or wall as comfortably as anywhere else.

Crowley stirred under the blankets, forked tongue flicking out slowly. 

“Not asssleep, no,” he said, voice languid and honeyed and pouring a warmth into Aziraphale’s blood that made him squirm before he could think better of it.

Crowley flung the blankets back, revealing the lanky, sinuous form stretched out on Aziraphale’s sheets. He was the very picture of abandon--not a stitch of clothing, eyes heavy-lidded and golden, hair loose and flowing over the pillows. On top of it all, he’d let his corporation go, nails dark and sharp and scales just below the surface of every curve Aziraphale liked to fit his hands to. Aziraphale’s mouth went dry at the sight, fingers digging into his palms with the need to touch.

“Oh, angel,” Crowley hissed, shivering theatrically and raising the back of his hand to his brow. “I’m ssso cold.”

Aziraphale gaped at him and felt distantly as if he’d fallen into a pit he hadn’t realized was there. They’d been walking, and the ice had given way, and it hadn’t been so far to the lake bottom--barely hip-deep for him, a little less for Crowley with his absurdly long legs--but it had been so horribly, damnably, excruciatingly cold. 

He’d cried like a kicked puppy and scrambled out, and Crowley… hadn’t. Crowley had, in fact, been immediately stricken mute, long limbs curling in on himself like a dying spider, eyes starting from their sockets. It had been terrifying, not least because Aziraphale hadn’t really known what discorporation would do to a demon. 

And just hauling him out of the water hadn’t been enough; it had taken Crowley so long to come back to himself, even after Aziraphale had gotten him indoors and miracled dry and in bed with a roaring fire heating the room to a practically infernal temperature. Aziraphale had waited and waited, biting his nails to the quick and not daring to pray over it, afraid to risk more than the gentlest touch against the demon’s cold skin in case he inflicted some irreparable hurt, Crowley’s corporation suddenly seeming hideously vulnerable to anything and everything. It had been like a sword to the gut, that feeling of helplessness, that sudden compound realization that he _could_ lose Crowley and that he didn’t know what he’d do if he did.

“I’d be ssso grateful, if only you could ressstore warmth to thessse leaden limbsss,” Crowley prompted, eyes narrowing to glowing amber slits. “Have mercssy, angel. Sssurely, it’sss not beyond your power.”

“Crowley,” Aziraphale managed. His skin felt numb, and his tongue was heavy in his mouth, and Crowley was instantly straightening up and staring at him, all trace of languor gone.

The demon glanced down at his naked corporation, flushing and tight-faced, and twitched the sheets back over himself.

“Sorry,” he said, not looking up. His nails were back to normal when he shoved his hair back off his face, the molten gold of his eyes retreating into a human-sized iris. “Bit much, innit? I wasn’t thinking. Should’ve asked first, shouldn’t I?” He risked a glance up, and Aziraphale could feel the tremor in his hands now, the pallor in his cheeks. Crowley stifled a flinch, fingertips going to the lines of scales still visible on his flesh above what the blanket covered, everything smoothing over and vanishing at the stroke of a hand. “Don’t worry, won’t happen again.”

“Crowley, that’s not…” Aziraphale shuddered. “It isn’t…”

It hit him like a revelation that he didn’t need to be afraid, this time. He knew his touch wouldn’t harm the demon, knew he wasn’t going to lose him, knew there was nothing at all stopping him from doing whatever he liked. Crowley wasn’t going to bite him or shrink from him or whisper poisoned words in his ear. There was nothing to be afraid of, this time.

Aziraphale snapped his fingers, clothes vanishing like dust under a driving rain, and he shoved himself under the covers and gathered Crowley into his arms, crushing the serpent to his breast as if he could undo past mistakes if only he held Crowley firmly enough. Crowley’s skin was cool against his, a perfectly ordinary, safe cool that matched the temperature of the air in the room instead of that stomach-churning cold that Aziraphale had had no idea how to remedy.

Crowley wriggled slightly, shimmying down just enough that he could get his mouth clear of Aziraphale’s neck. “Erm.”

“You know, it’s silly, but.” Aziraphale swallowed and stroked Crowley’s hair, his fingers stiff. He could, this time. He could, but he still felt a little frantic with it, desperate to reassure himself with the rise of Crowley’s chest against his. “That was the first time you almost got yourself discorporated around me.”

“You’d been discorporated a good two dozen times by then yourself, angel,” Crowley reminded him. Narrow, long-fingered hands settled easily around Aziraphale’s hips, thumbs tracing comforting circles over the skin.

“Yes, I know, but still. You’d never said. It had never come up. I didn’t know, really, what might happen to demons when they lost their corporations. If dying in certain ways might result in damage that carried through to the true form, or injured the spirit as well as the corporation.” Aziraphale could hear the hysterical edge in his voice, the way he was rushing to explain to Crowley what he hadn’t let himself look at too closely at the time of. “If they’d let you come back, if you got discorporated by accident.”

“Angel, shh.” Crowley flicked his tongue against Aziraphale’s skin and let his hands go tighter on Aziraphale’s hips. “It didn’t matter. You took care of me.”

He had, hadn’t he? Clumsily and practically with both hands tied behind his back, the way he’d been terrified of making it worse by using any of his powers, but he’d done it.

Aziraphale let out of shaky, frightened breath, and Crowley hummed against his throat.

“I really didn’t mean to upset you,” Crowley said, contrition lurking in his voice like a cat in tall grass. “Should’ve known better than to surprise you with a monster in your bed. Once is bad enough, eh?”

“It wasn’t that, Crowley. It wasn’t.” Aziraphale hugged him tighter. Why hadn’t he managed just a bit more self-possession than that? 

Crowley was still so hesitant about certain things, so ready to believe that parts of him repulsed Aziraphale, that his place in Aziraphale’s bed was deeply conditional and quite possibly fleeting. Aziraphale had forgotten how horrid the whole thing had been, that was all. It had surprised him, the strength of those feelings cropping up again like that. He’d thought they were past that by now, trading fear of the dark and the cold and failed harvests for fear of atomic weapons and lab-generated plagues and the wrath of Heaven.

Aziraphale closed his eyes and thought of what he’d have done then, if he’d known what he did now. He’d take care of Crowley so much better, now. He stroked Crowley’s hair, less rattled than he had been, feeling his heart slowing back down as those copper curls flowed through his fingers. He opened his eyes again, blinking at the idea that had just percolated up through the panicky sludge of his brain. He nudged the temperature of his corporation up a few degrees and made himself loosen his grip on Crowley, letting the serpent rearrange himself more comfortably.

“Poor angel,” Crowley murmured, scooting a few inches away and then rolling back to lean on Aziraphale properly. One hand left its perch on Aziraphale’s hip and migrated to a new home in his hair, nails skating pleasantly over Aziraphale’s scalp. “I just figured it might be a bit of fun, you warming me up.”

“It was a nice thought,” Aziraphale said, tugging at the covers to corral Crowley against him. It had been a nice thought, just one better suited to the thousand-odd years it had taken before Aziraphale had been able to look back on the incident and think of how beautiful Crowley had been, sprawled out and yielding in his bed, instead of how monstrously desperate he’d been to keep Crowley with him, how frustrating it had been to have so much power but still not be able to do any good with it, how shocking it had been to really _want_ Crowley like that. 

After a few minutes, the bed was decidedly warmer than it had been, and Crowley’s eyes were going heavy-lidded again.

“Mmm. What’re you up to, then?” Crowley asked, yawning. He was plastered against Aziraphale’s skin, head tucked into Aziraphale’s throat and limbs gone too limber, a snake adjusting its coils to soak up as much heat as possible from a convenient rock. The weight of him at rest was grounding, the cool of his skin pleasant against Aziraphale’s unnaturally elevated temperature, and Aziraphale let his hands wander, fingers running over the sharp lines and gentle curves of Crowley’s body.

There was an animal grace, an alien quality to the way Crowley moved when he was like this, everything about him almost like it had a mind of its own, burrowing and clinging and tugging and lounging. It was overwhelming at the same time it satisfied a craving Aziraphale hadn’t wanted to admit he had, Crowley clinging to him out of base instinct, conscious choice not entering into it for once. Crowley hungry for his touch, driven by an irresistible urge.

There was no part of him more than a few inches from the comfort of Crowley’s skin, the weight and pressure of him an inarguable testament to everything being fine. The flutter of Aziraphale’s heart continued to slow, the tightness in his chest and his belly easing under Crowley’s need to touch him.

“Is it so wrong to want to hold you?” Aziraphale tutted, letting his fingers tangle in Crowley’s hair. “You get up to such mischief the moment you’re out of my sight. You can’t blame me for wanting to keep you right here in my arms, where I know you’re safe and sound.”

“’m the serpent of Eden,” Crowley mumbled, lips moving against Aziraphale’s throat. “Can’t be tamed by the likes of you.”

“You can be charmed just like any other snake, surely,” Aziraphale chuckled, kissing his cheek.

“Impossible.” Crowley yawned again. “Even the most cunning of principalities wouldn’t have a chance, and you’re just the guardian of the western gate.”

“Eastern,” Aziraphale said, tugging at his hair. Vexatious demon, teasing him even now.

“Eastern gate?” Crowley’s eyes batted open. “Not the great and terrible Aziraphale, whose wisdom and subtlety--”

“All right, you, that’s enough.” Aziraphale cut him off with a kiss, and he could feel the cunning smile against his lips. Crowley let his teeth press into Aziraphale’s bottom lip, just hard enough to feel the edge of them, then ducked his head to rest it against Aziraphale’s shoulder.

“I did talk you up every chance I got, though,” Crowley confessed, a moment or two after Aziraphale thought he might really be napping. His voice was bliss-thick and sleepy, and Aziraphale smiled at it and held him closer. “Helped account for why I never got anywhere, when you were working the same gig. And I thought, with the way demons blab about everything, eventually it might get back to those sanctimonious pricks and they’d stop giving you such shit assignments.”

“You…” Aziraphale stopped and tried to come up with a way to put it that wouldn’t put Crowley’s back up. How many thousands of years was it going to take, for him to even begin catching up to what Crowley had tried to do for him all along? There would never be time enough, not if Earth spun on for the rest of eternity. “When did you first know? That you loved me, I mean?”

“Told you, I wanted you--”

“Not wanting me,” Aziraphale said, kissing his forehead. “Loving me.”

“Six of one, half-dozen of the other,” Crowley murmured, tilting his face up to catch Aziraphale’s lips with his own for a moment. He settled back into place against Aziraphale’s chest afterward. “I didn’t want anything before you, and I haven’t wanted anything else since you--not for its own sake, anyway. You know, it’s funny.” His breath puffed against Aziraphale’s ear with a silent half-laugh, Crowley’s ribs flexing with it, and it was a struggle to keep still. “I thought, ‘Oh, hey--lust!’ and then just got on with it. Felt properly demonic, if you must know. Good old Crawley, finding a pretty angel and lusting after them. I almost put it in my blessed report. The only thing that stopped me was thinking that I should hold onto it, in case I needed to really wow them later or weasel out of something turning out all wrong. Hadn’t a clue what was really going on until I saw genuine, unadulterated lust in action. Heaven of an eye-opener, that one.”

“You can’t love someone without knowing them,” Aziraphale reminded him. It was such a pretty story, coming from a demon, but even so.

“Psh. You do it all the time,” Crowley snorted. He somehow found a way to press himself even more firmly against Aziraphale without it being uncomfortable. “But it… it fleshed itself out, the better I got to know you. The details started filling in, the colors got brighter, the whole thing got clearer. Like watching those Egyptian bastards break out the paint pots after they’d gotten the glyphs penciled in. I started out wanting to make you come, and then later I figured out what would make you smile, and what would make you laugh, and what would take your mind off things that had you worried, and what all those different things you did meant about how you were feeling and what you wanted. I even started looking for the same back from you, that’s how far gone I was.”

Aziraphale’s stomach clenched at that, at how he’d behaved all those centuries when he’d been so damned sure that demons didn’t, wouldn’t, _couldn’t_. At how brave and noble he’d felt when he’d first realized that he loved Crowley--in spite of everything, he’d told himself. Small wonder Crowley thought Aziraphale could only tolerate so much unvarnished reality from the serpent, when he’d spent centuries feeling halfway to a martyr for his own transcendentally angelic ability to love even a demon. Aziraphale shook his head at himself. He’d been such a fool.

“I loved you for a long time before I showed you,” Aziraphale said quietly. “I was too big a coward.”

“You were never a coward, angel,” Crowley told him, his tone brooking no argument. “Cowards don’t give their swords away, even though they’re terrified of the consequences. Cowards don’t defy Heaven to its face, even though it could get them killed. Cowards don’t stand up to Satan himself with no backup. You had a lot more to lose, that’s all.”

“You’re too forgiving.” Aziraphale stroked his hair and watched his eyes fall shut. If he’d been brave enough to just crawl into bed with Crowley in the first place, how much pain could he have saved himself? How much pain could he have saved Crowley? He stroked his fingers down Crowley’s spine and lost himself in how wonderful it was when Crowley arched his back under Aziraphale’s touch.

“I love you,” Crowley breathed, as if it was explanation and excuse all rolled into one. “And if I haven’t managed to be clever about it more than a few times in the past entirety of existence, it feels unfair for you to expect me to be clever about it now.”

Aziraphale smiled indulgently at that and let his hand stroke down Crowley’s spine again. He was rewarded with another pleased little shiver, and Crowley practically purring into his neck.

“I love you, too,” Aziraphale said. “And I dare say I haven’t managed to be clever about it even once.”

“Figured out how to stoke the ethereal furnace, didn’t you?” Crowley asked. “Dash cunning, that. I’m never getting out of this bed again, I don’t think. Got me right where you want me.”

“Mmm. That was very clever of me, wasn’t it?” Aziraphale asked, petting at the downy hair on the nape of Crowley’s neck. 

Shame he hadn’t realized what a rare and marvelous gift he’d been given just a bit sooner, and a pity he hadn’t a clue how to fix things properly now, but… they’d get there, wouldn’t they? Crowley was too forgiving, and Aziraphale had no intention of giving up before he’d earned it, and eventually even a demon as stubborn and clever as Crowley would have to admit that he was kind, and good, and deserved all the love Aziraphale wanted to lavish on him. No, they would get there. 

He let his smile go wanton and his hand stray lower. “You wanted to make me come, did you?”

Crowley smirked. “Thought about it constantly. I’d watch the clouds roll by and wonder about how you might like to be touched, what you might ask me for if you ever got bold enough. I mean, you’d given away your sword--asking a demon to lay you down in the shade and bring you off a few times and feed you strawberries and cream afterward wasn’t so far out there, was it?”

Aziraphale pressed Crowley against his chest. What might they have had, if he’d thought to reach for it.

“I imagined all sorts of ridiculous excuses to be nice to you, to make you smile at me. I made little bets with myself, about what sort of wonderful noises you’d make if you let me rub your shoulders or groom your wings.” Crowley scoffed. “Back then I thought you’d want an easy touch, light as a sunbeam on your skin. Surprised the heaven out of me when you finally let me do it and practically wanted me to take a rug-beater to you.”

“It’s…” Aziraphale bit his lip. It had been such an argument to get the demon to use an appropriate amount of force, Crowley going waspish and short-tempered as Aziraphale kept complaining that he wasn’t doing it hard enough. “I can’t help that I’m not made of seafoam and meringue like you thought I should be. It’s nice when you’re gentle, but you’re never going to get a real stiff muscle worked out that way.”

“Depends on the stiff muscle in question, doesn’t it?” Crowley asked archly, shifting his hips so that his thigh dragged lightly over Aziraphale’s cock.

“What would you have done, if I’d smiled at you and said yes?” Aziraphale murmured, thrilling against the weight of Crowley’s body where it rested on his, at the heat sparking along his nerves instead of fear.

“Panicked, probably.” Crowley’s smirk turned wry. “Come in my robes, maybe. Swallowed my tongue and had to beat an ignominious retreat back to Hell to regroup, almost assuredly.” 

He sighed, and the smile faded. He reached up and ran his fingers through Aziraphale’s hair, brushing the curls back from his forehead, and Aziraphale thought of how those clever fingers felt against his tongue, those delicate knuckles against his lips. Crowley had gone so unfocused, stammering and helpless and his wits scattered to the four winds, when Aziraphale had first kissed the demon’s hand. So long ago now--it had been the first time Aziraphale had reconsidered everything he’d never imagined wanting, reevaluated it in the new light of Crowley being the one to give it to him. 

“It wasn’t as fun, after I realized it wasn’t lust like I’d thought,” Crowley said softly. “I started thinking it might upset you, if you mistook it for _that_. Frighten you, or make you start casting me out instead of talking to me. I’d tell myself I should quit while I was ahead, and that I was being stupid, and then I’d turn right around and wait for you at an oasis or hang around your lost lambs, knowing you had to show up eventually.”

Aziraphale remembered the oasis--more than one, really. Dozens, if he thought about it. There had been one time in particular that had been little more than bait on a hook, and he’d been… unsettled. It had been after a particularly awful assignment, and Crowley hadn’t even bothered giving one of the usual excuses for being there, waiting. He’d offered sweet almonds and wine, and miracled up a cool breeze, and left it at that. It had made Aziraphale feel so off balance and nervous to have someone treat him well for no apparent reason. He’d wanted to relax into it at the same time that he wanted to figure out what the trick of it was, and it had left him reeling for the rest of the month. Instead of that, he could have simply had Crowley. But lambs?

“What lost lambs?” Aziraphale asked, brow furrowing. 

Crowley flicked his tongue out, eyes narrowed. “Mmm. You know, I never could figure out how you made such an appalling shepherd. Practically all you do is hoard stuff and guard it against anyone messing with it, and--”

“Did you _steal_ my _sheep_?” Aziraphale demanded.

“No! They got properly lost,” Crowley laughed. It rippled through his whole body, vibrating against Aziraphale’s skin, and Aziraphale decided it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world if they never did leave his bed. “I just made sure nothing made a meal of ‘em, and then you persistently failed to put in an appearance, and it was either cart them back to the herd myself or miracle up a ewe to feed them. Still can’t believe you didn’t notice me sneaking them back into the flock--hard to be stealthy when you’re festooned in hungry, bleating lambs.” 

“There were a lot of bleating, hungry lambs back then,” Aziraphale said defensively. “I’m sure you blended right in.” 

He hadn’t made a very good go of it as a shepherd, no, but that had been rather besides the point. He’d been there to keep tabs on the settlement, as unobtrusively as possible. It had been something of a relief, really, not to have to walk among them and know them and watch them go about lives that would be all too brief. It just hadn’t translated into liking sheep any better than he had before he’d been given three-score of them.

That Crowley had been there right along with him, and they hadn’t seen each other… “You brought back my sheep and didn’t even say hello?”

“Figured you’d just accuse me of stealing them,” Crowley said, sticking his tongue out.

“Hmph.” Would he have? Probably not. Demons weren’t known for bringing things back, if they wanted them enough to take them in the first place. Though it would have been easy enough to accuse Crowley of trying to trick him. “You did stop pursuing me, though. I didn’t see you for such a long time. I thought you’d finally gotten tired of me.” 

“I didn’t stop, not really. And it was never a proper pursuit. I just… came to a few realizations, I suppose,” Crowley said, shifting against him. A thrill ran through Aziraphale at that, at the languid coil and ripple of muscle over his body. Crowley felt so perfect like this. “You know--all right, it wasn’t lust. So what was it, then?” Crowley nuzzled him. “I knew what a human would call it, spending so long wanting to be nice to someone. Good for a human, maybe a little weird for an angel. But a demon?”

Crowley made a noise and shook his head, and he suddenly seemed so restless that it was all Aziraphale could do not to roll them over and pin him to the bed. He settled for wrapping his fingers tighter in Crowley’s hair and holding him close until Crowley subsided, wishing he could give Crowley the same feeling of peace that he felt when Crowley stretched out alongside him like this.

“And… I don’t know,” Crowley continued, his tone prickly, uneasy. “Suddenly instead of it being something to brag about, it was something that could get me in a fair bit of trouble if I got caught. All that, and for what? So I could daydream about how sweet you’d look asleep in my arms? I mean, you’d never go for it. Sure, you smiled at me sometimes, but it was always nervous, like humans when they were trying to figure out if they were seeing a dog or a wolf and knew it might not matter either way. Not to mention that even that took me walking up and announcing myself. Most times, you ignored me completely.” He grunted. “And all right, I’d gotten to know you well enough to really start loving you properly, but I’d gotten to know you well enough to know that if Heaven said smite, you’d feel bad about it, but you’d do it. And I’d seen enough by then to know I really didn’t want to be on the receiving end of a smiting.” 

“The Flood,” Aziraphale said quietly. None of what Crowley had said was especially wrong, especially not with how timid and obedient Aziraphale had been at first. Nothing had ever been good enough, no submission complete enough, to earn the praise that came so readily to other angels. But it smacked of despair, of Crowley thinking their stations had been too remote instead of two sides of the same coin.

“Not just the Flood, but…” Crowley shuddered against him. “I saw how you wept over them, angel. It broke your heart. But you still…” Crowley hissed. “What’s a demon to that?”

“I wouldn’t have,” Aziraphale said quietly. 

He’d known better, even then. He’d seen Crowley be kind once too many times, seen the laughter sparkle in those yellow eyes. Crowley had been one of the few people who’d still smiled when they really looked at him. It would have been too great a loss, to betray that. It would have been personal in a way it had rarely been, with humans. No matter what he did or didn’t do, no matter what orders he followed or refused, a human would never have more than a century or two. He hated seeing them suffer, but there was nothing he could do to save them from death. Crowley had been made to be eternal, immortal, the same as any angel. To extinguish that spark was unthinkable.

“Mm. I wasn’t a big enough idiot to roll the dice,” Crowley said. “Plus, you were hurting over it. I could see it in the way you carried yourself, how you wouldn’t let yourself get close to the next people you were sent to watch over. And… you know, sometimes it’s best not to give someone who’s hurting a convenient scapegoat to take it out on.”

Aziraphale swallowed. He’d never. He’d felt that frustration course through him countless times over the millennia, felt that curdling anger and that sick need to do something, anything. He’d seen what happened when people gave in to it, though, watched the horror that followed after. The things people did that they could never take back. He clutched Crowley to him, kissed his cheek, coiled his fingers in red hair. How much worse must it have been in Hell?

“I love you.” He kissed Crowley’s other cheek and brushed his thumb over Crowley’s lips.

“You love me now,” Crowley said, his smile tired and lopsided.

“I love you enough to want to make up for lost time.” Aziraphale kissed him, nudging his mouth open. “I’m sorry I frightened you.”

“You didn’t _frighten_ me.” Crowley rolled his eyes and flicked out his tongue. “Not your fault I made myself properly miserable over you for a while. Not like you asked me to. Not like you even encouraged me.”

“I practically held a red carpet reception for you, given that my mission was explicitly thwarting your schemes.” Aziraphale wrapped his arms around Crowley’s chest and kissed his forehead. “I… needed you. I’d never have admitted it, and it scared the hell out of me, but I did.”

He’d been so horrified to hear his own doubts and arguments coming from a demon’s mouth, raised to the heavens by a demon’s voice. He’d been almost as horrified to hear how empty Heaven’s justifications and rationale sounded when he quoted them back in defense of his missions. If Heaven was wrong, what did that make everything he’d already done at their say-so? If it was only Crowley seeing things the same way, what did that say about Aziraphale’s opinions? 

But the alternative would have been his doubts and arguments finding no agreement anywhere outside his own skull, would have been suspecting that something was wrong but that nothing could ever be done to fix it, and Aziraphale wondered how long he’d have kept his head above water then. Not long--it would have been easier and less painful just to sink.

“You kept me whole, Crowley. You kept me myself. You gave me a reason not to just give up.” Aziraphale smiled sadly and kissed the corners of those golden eyes, and Crowley squirmed against him. “I’m sorry I was so ungrateful for so long.”

“Meh.” Crowley wriggled halfway out of his arms, and Aziraphale tightened his grip on Crowley’s waist to keep him from getting any farther. The demon’s exaggerated squirming only served to remind him of everything Crowley let him do without complaint or rebuke, the way Crowley let him charm the serpent if he was careful to ask in the right way. “You made up for it in other ways. Never seen anyone fill out a pair of hose better, really.”

“Oh, but you’re awful sometimes,” Aziraphale gasped, laughing. He kissed Crowley’s belly, taking comfort in the flutter of Crowley’s muscles under his mouth, the borrowed warmth of his skin, the hissed protest that Aziraphale was tickling him. Alive--so vitally alive in his arms. All the mistakes he’d made, all the mistakes he might have made but mercifully hadn’t, and Crowley was still his.

Aziraphale pinned the writhing demon to the mattress, getting his hand around Crowley’s wrists and pressing them to the blankets above the demon’s head. “I’ll never hurt you, Crowley. I’ll never raise a hand against you, never harm you. But if you’re going to insist on _being_ ticklish…”

“And you have the nerve to call me awful,” Crowley snapped, wrapping his legs around Aziraphale’s hips. He looked up through his lashes and pouted, shivering. “Look what you’ve done, kicking off all the blankets like that. I’m cold again.”

Aziraphale lowered himself gingerly, cautious of the unnatural tangle of limbs Crowley could settle into when he wasn’t paying attention, until he was covering Crowley’s corporation with his own. Once he was satisfied that they would both be comfortable, he pulled the covers back over them.

“I love you,” he said, whispering it in Crowley’s ear as the demon wrapped his arms around Aziraphale’s back. “Until the stars fall and the sun goes dark, you’ll have me keeping you warm.”

Crowley sighed and kissed his throat. “Pretty words from a pretty angel.” 

He shifted slightly, rolling his hips, and Aziraphale pushed away the thought of Crowley frightened and angry and weak, clinging to him for warmth and fighting the bitter restorative Aziraphale had been determined to make him drink. They’d faced it all down and come out safe and whole on the other side; there was nothing left to fear from each other now.

“I find I prefer action, myself,” Crowley purred, his voice a soft moan in Aziraphale’s ear. This was what he’d been afraid of, all those centuries ago. Crowley offering himself on a platter, Crowley bargaining with himself as the only chip. Astonishing, how things could change.

Aziraphale got his knees between Crowley’s slender thighs and shoved them wide, slotted himself into that comfortable gap between Crowley’s too-long legs, and got one arm under Crowley’s hips. Crowley groaned and bucked at the miracle slicking him open, his eyes going wide and gold at it.

“Angel!”

“Too much?” Aziraphale asked, free hand coming up to cup Crowley’s cheek.

Crowley shook his head and nudged Aziraphale forward with a heel hooked around the back of his thigh. “I--Satan’s sake, angel, don’t make me beg! Come on!”

“Oh.” Aziraphale relaxed and smiled, then lifted Crowley’s hips and positioned himself against them. He was hard enough to satisfy the demon now, hard and aching and slick, and he rested the tip of his cock against Crowley’s entrance. “Ready?”

“ _Please_.”

Aziraphale kissed him, tongue sliding into that clever mouth as his cock slid into that tight passage, and Crowley writhed beneath him, moaning velvety and low as Aziraphale fit them together like a lock welcoming home its key.

“Oh, angel,” he panted, his lips curling back in a delighted smile. “You’re _warm_.”

Aziraphale flushed at that, feeling ridiculous even as it sent a curl of pride and desire and possessiveness up his spine. Crowley had never wanted anyone but him, had never accepted anyone but him, longed for him just as he longed for Crowley. He wrapped his arm under Crowley’s back, holding him tight, and began thrusting in earnest. 

It wasn’t long before Crowley was clutching at him and groaning, half-sentences and stray words falling from his lips like beads off a torn necklace, head thrown back and beautiful eyes screwed shut. Crowley’s hands were everywhere, his lean corporation flexing and twisting under Aziraphale’s, clenching around his cock, sending an answering surge of pleasure washing through his veins. There was a lovely flush blossoming across Crowley’s chest and his cheeks, and that serpentine hunger animating his limbs, and Aziraphale wanted to watch him come just from this, from Aziraphale’s tongue and cock and overheated skin.

He didn’t have long to wait; Crowley was keening and spilling against him within minutes, shaking and arching and all but screaming with it, nails digging into Aziraphale’s back and calves wedged tight across the backs of Aziraphale’s thighs. Aziraphale followed him over the edge, burying himself deep in Crowley’s flesh and coming until all he could feel was the wild, sharp-toothed tenderness that ran around and through Crowley’s love for him.

When he came back to himself, Crowley was running slow, loving fingers through his hair and kneading softly at the back of his neck. He was sprawled across Crowley’s chest, still sunk in him to the hilt and as hard as if he hadn’t climaxed at all. He shifted minutely to the side, trying to free one of his arms and begin extracting himself, and Crowley shuddered, flesh tightening around Aziraphale’s member even as his lips parted and his lashes fluttered.

“You’re so beautiful,” Aziraphale blurted, half-regretting it even as he said it. There were times and places he could get away with saying things like that, and this didn’t feel like one of them yet.

“Flatter me as much as you like, just keep--” Crowley broke off with a moan, spine bowing up to press his chest against Aziraphale’s. He quivered, fingers tightening in a sharp spasm, and Aziraphale tilted his hips to press his cock more firmly against the bundle of nerves that had robbed his demon of speech for a moment. Crowley threw his head back, mouth gaping open in a silent howl, and Aziraphale felt the hot gush of the demon’s seed against his belly.

He pulled out gently, smoothing Crowley’s hair and kissing him when he whimpered against the loss, and then cradled Crowley against him under the covers.

“Heart of my heart,” Aziraphale murmured, kissing his drowsing demon. “I promise--”

Crowley cut him off with an enervated hand pressed half over his mouth, eyes barely opening enough to make sure he’d hit his target.

“Shh, angel. ’m trying to sleep.” Crowley rolled over determinedly and wriggled back against Aziraphale’s chest firmly, the last word on the subject. There was only so much he’d let Aziraphale say, when he’d stripped himself so bare.

Aziraphale held him tight and pressed his lips to the side of Crowley’s throat. _I promise to love you as you deserve, for however long the two of us have left._


	3. Picnic

“So, what’s so special about the latest acquisition?” Crowley asked. He eyed the parcel in Aziraphale’s lap dubiously, then twitched slightly, his gaze back on the road in front of them. “I mean, no one else seeming interested saved you a few quid--well done, there--but usually when you’re coming this far after something specific it all but comes to blows over it.”

Aziraphale refused to let Crowley bait him. It had never, not once, almost come to blows. He’d have simply blessed the rival in question, grabbed the book, and fled.

“I suppose it’s less the content and more the provenance. It’s from the last run a printer I rather liked managed to get off the presses before the shop burned down in the Great Fire.” Aziraphale smiled softly and looked down at the package. “Did I ever tell you how clever of you it was to use gunpowder to--”

“Thppft.” Crowley glowered at him out of the corner of his eye.

“Fine, be that way,” Aziraphale said, shaking his head. “I know it was you who inspired the Tower garrison.”

“I would never.”

“No? I guess it must have been a clerical error, them commending me for the blessings that saved what was left of London while I was in Prague.”

“Must’ve been.” Crowley’s expression didn’t change, but an irritable ripple of tension ran down his spine, and Aziraphale thought it was like watching someone stroke an overstimulated cat. Well. Not so different, really, was it?

Aziraphale couldn’t help but glance at the back seat, the lurking picnic basket all the proof he needed that Crowley was at least as nice as he thought. Why the demon couldn’t let him _say_ it more often, now that it was nobody’s business how demonic he was or wasn’t, Aziraphale didn’t know.

Or maybe he did--Crowley always got jittery and defensive after nights like the one they’d spent with Crowley wrapped around him like a constrictor and enduring all manner of endearments. It wasn’t like that after Crowley’d made a pet of him; the demon was nothing but pleased with himself and confident in it whenever he took Aziraphale apart and put him back together again. But letting Aziraphale return the favor? That left him tense and fretting the next few days, proud and hissing and doing everything he could to slither out of being soothed even as he seemed to long for it.

“Did you have a plan on when to stop for lunch?” Aziraphale asked instead.

“Mrr?” Crowley flicked one hand off the wheel, shoulders jerking up in a shrug that was half an answer. “Are you hungry, then? I mean, it’s no skin off my nose if you want--”

“It’s just that usually you do,” Aziraphale interrupted firmly. He had no intention of letting Crowley spook himself off whatever cunning little thing he’d come up with after Aziraphale had found out about the auction and begged Crowley to drive him down for it. “You know, somewhere midway between origin and destination, or pulling off before traffic gets too heavy.”

“Ah. I’d thought of maybe dodging the toll by taking a bit of a detour. We could find someplace there to pull off, if you like,” Crowley said slowly, as if the idea was of no importance and he couldn’t care less.

“Whatever you like,” Aziraphale sniffed. “I’m not the one who spent half of last night with his nose in a map cursing traffic cameras.”

“Be most convenient, probably.” Crowley sucked at his teeth. “If you think you can hold out that long, anyway.”

“ _My dear._ ”

“Fine!” Crowley slouched down in the seat and glared out the windshield. Aziraphale resisted the urge to reach over and pat his knee.

Crowley’s mood finally lifted once they were back on a main road and he could put his foot down again without sending them into a ditch, and Aziraphale found himself clutching the book to his chest and pushing back into the seat like that could save him. He wanted to remind Crowley that there’d be no getting out of it this time if they got discorporated, but he also didn’t want Crowley back to blowing raspberries at him.

It wasn’t too much longer before they hit the detour he’d mentioned, and then in even less time Crowley was pulling off onto a narrow dirt track and throwing the car into park. He got Aziraphale’s door, then retrieved the picnic basket and offered his arm. It was a short walk down a footpath, the sun shining on them and the breeze ruffling their hair. At the end of it was a lovely lake and a stand of shade trees, and Aziraphale stood on the bank, drinking in the sight. Being cooped up in London had its own rewards and delights, but he forgot sometimes, how lovely it was being out in the country like this.

Crowley dug the blanket out of the basket and unfurled it, settling it over the grass and putting the basket down in the center. He sprawled out on one side, tucked his hands under the back of his head, and arched an eyebrow at Aziraphale.

“Well? Dig in, angel,” Crowley told him smugly. “You must be ravenous by now.”

“Really, dear?” Aziraphale gave him a sharp look and peeked into the basket. He smiled in spite of himself. A pair of shooter’s sandwiches, a little pot of the mustard Aziraphale favored to go with beef, a bottle of wine.

Aziraphale helped himself and sat down on the blanket. He shed his coat after a moment and reclined, his eyes skipping over the lake and its lush banks as Crowley poured the wine and retrieved his own sandwich.

“This reminds me of that place in Egypt,” Aziraphale said after a moment. He’d been the one waiting for Crowley that time, though of course he hadn’t been properly waiting for the demon. He’d just had something of a feeling that Crowley would show up, and he hadn’t entirely been opposed to the idea.

“Mmm.” Crowley sipped his wine. “If you try to torture me this time, I’m tipping you into the lake, shoes and all.”

“Torture you!” Aziraphale froze with the sandwich halfway to his lips. “You… you... _liar_!”

“Oases are places of peace, angel,” Crowley said, unrepentant. “Practically sacrosanct, the covenant that prevents them from turning into battlefields. Even animals respect that one. And what do you do when you see me dragging my poor abused corporation up to one for a drink?”

“Comb out your hair, wash the dust from your face, and treat your injuries?” Aziraphale asked, letting his voice go tart. 

Whatever Crowley had been up to, Hell hadn’t been best pleased by the outcome, and the poor demon had been cut off from all but the smallest pittance of his normal power. Aziraphale had thought only to repay the times Crowley had shared his wine or his dates or, on one occasion, a little cake baked with honey and sesame. 

Instead, the demon had sat in the shade on the opposite side of the spring and sulked over his aching, bruised feet and his parched throat and not let Aziraphale near him for hours. It had taken half an hour of wheedling just to get him to accept a few wild figs, and Aziraphale would have compared it to coaxing a hawk onto his glove but he’d never had a moment’s difficulty with animals. 

Crowley had been exhausted and hurting, and Aziraphale had eventually calmed him enough to do something about it, but it had taken more persuasion than he’d thought himself capable of. He’d heated up some samwa and washed Crowley’s feet in the astringent, brushed the tangles out of his hair and braided it for him, miracled his robes clean--it had felt like some great accomplishment when Crowley had curled up next to him and slept, when Crowley had trusted him enough to let his guard down.

“Torture you,” Aziraphale scoffed, nibbling his sandwich. The steak and mushrooms were lovely but missing something.

Crowley smirked and nudged the mustard at him, and Aziraphale glared but took it.

“You never even thanked me for the figs I let you have,” Aziraphale continued, slathering his sandwich with more mustard than he’d meant to. He frowned at it, and then suddenly the excess was gone and Crowley’s smirk had sharpened.

“Surely I’ve paid off that debt in the years since?” Crowley asked, his own eyes going to the water. Even irritated as he was, Aziraphale had to admit that Crowley had picked a pretty spot for a picnic. The demon looked almost as delicious as the food, lounging in the shade and grinning like a fiend.

Aziraphale raised his glass and followed Crowley’s gaze. “Ha. Trust you to find the first ducklings of the season, dear.”

Crowley wrinkled his nose haughtily. “No idea what you’re blathering on about, angel.”

“Of course not.” It was Aziraphale’s turn to smirk. “And if I root around in the basket a bit more I won’t find a bag of rolled oats.”

“Wot, I can’t include granola without getting accused of something?” Crowley asked, his lip curling.

“It’s lovely, darling,” Aziraphale sighed after a moment. Crowley snorted and drank his wine.

“Thought you might like it,” he admitted eventually. He sat up and crossed his arms over his knees, glass dangling precariously from his fingers.

“You know.” Aziraphale glanced at him and smiled. “If you want to repay me for those figs...”

“Mmm?” Crowley’s eyebrows climbed precipitously.

Aziraphale rolled his shoulders, giving them an exaggerated stretch. He looked at Crowley over his shoulder and cocked his head.

“Did you have something in mind, or did a bug fall down the back of your shirt?” Crowley asked, his lips twitching as he tried to pretend disinterest.

“You could rub my shoulders,” Aziraphale said, pressing his own lips together to keep his smile from going too wide and ruining the effect.

“An _gel_ ,” Crowley hissed, his cheeks finally coloring. “You’re not allowed to hold things I say in bed against me. You know I can’t control myself around you.”

“You could find out if you were right about what sort of noises I’d make,” Aziraphale chuckled, an answering blush rising on his own cheeks.

“Pfft. I already know what sort of noises you’d make.” Crowley stuck out his tongue. “Couldn’t get you to stop making them, the last time I gave it a go. I could hear it in my sleep for the next decade, the dulcet tones of ‘Is that all you’ve got? No question who’s going to win the Final Battle if that’s the hardest you can manage. You’re really trying, you’re sure?’”

“I wasn’t that bad--”

“Verbatim, angel.” Crowley stretched his arms and set his glass aside, then plopped himself down behind Aziraphale, bony knees bracketing plush hips. Gooseflesh prickled the back of Aziraphale’s neck and down his forearms in anticipation. “It was like defusing a bomb, trying to get out the knots without going too hard and hurting you.”

“I could hardly have held it against you if it was too deep,” Aziraphale protested. “I mean, I did ask for it.”

Crowley snorted, and Aziraphale felt the press of wine-cool lips to the back of his neck. He closed his eyes, hoping the demon would open his mouth and run his tongue over Aziraphale’s skin. Instead, Crowley nuzzled him and purred, “You could hold anything against me you like, angel.”

“Vulgar thing,” Aziraphale scolded. Then Crowley’s hands were digging into his shoulders, strong fingers careful and measuring, and Aziraphale let his eyes fall shut. “Oh!”

“Good?” Crowley asked.

“Mmm, yes.” It was different, when there wasn’t a sore muscle nagging at him or wings that had been folded away for too long. Different, when nothing hurt and it just felt nice to have Crowley touching him like this. Those hands were careful, the pressure barely-there but persistent through Aziraphale’s shirt and waistcoat, the heat of Crowley’s hands soaking in after a minute’s delay. “Perfect.”

Crowley hummed to himself and kept going, kneading softly and rubbing gently at Aziraphale’s flesh until everything was loose and warm and Aziraphale felt like a melting jelly with it. He scooted back until he could rest himself against Crowley’s chest, and Crowley draped his arms down over Aziraphale’s, his hands resting on Aziraphale’s belly. The tension that had been winding him too tight since Aziraphale had promised to keep him warm was finally gone, and Aziraphale folded his hands over Crowley’s tenderly.

“I believe there was some mention of strawberries and cream?” Aziraphale lifted his chin hopefully.

“Insatiable,” Crowley said, turning his head so he could kiss Aziraphale’s cheek. “And they’re behind the rolled oats, if you must know.”

Aziraphale laced their fingers together and squeezed. “Thank you, my dear.”

He watched the ducks paddle about on the water and let more of his weight rest on Crowley, and it was hard not to think that it really was quite as perfect as if Crowley had been planning it for millennia instead of just a few days. Crowley holding him, surrounding him, keeping him upright even as he tempted Aziraphale to recline further…

He lifted his chin and kissed Crowley’s neck.

“Feed me a strawberry?” he asked, blushing at his own boldness.

Crowley squirmed and looked away. “Really, angel. Right here where the ducks can see?”

Aziraphale laughed and buried his face in Crowley’s shoulder. Poor demon, embarrassed by his own capacity for love. “All right. Maybe later, then.”

“If you’re good,” Crowley murmured, cheeks red. “Once we’re home.”

Aziraphale paused, lips pursing, then pushed the thought away before he made something of it and sent Crowley scrambling back behind his usual defenses. _Home._

He’d only slipped like that once before, after the Ritz, when he’d been too tired and rattled to realize he’d done it and Aziraphale had been too tired and rattled to make anything of it. Aziraphale sighed happily and let his hands tighten on Crowley’s. Somehow, slowly, the bookshop was turning into _home_ for the demon. Aziraphale smiled at the thought. His poor hawk, finally settling in on the glove after all this time spent looking for a perch.

Things were looking up, weren’t they?


	4. Blindfold

“Angel?” Crowley asked, and Aziraphale made himself pretend it was nothing, pretend it was a casual question. Crowley had been twitching and slithery for the past hour, fingers drumming on the table and foot kicking at nothing where it dangled off the chair and eyes darting at the least sound or shadow, his tea going cold untouched and his biscuits long since picked to crumbs without being so much as tasted. But his tone was studied, almost nonchalant, and he’d gone overly still to compensate for the desire to fidget.

“Yes, love?” Aziraphale looked up from his novel, tilting his head and smiling. _I love you, Crowley._ Maybe if he thought it loud enough, the demon could take a deep breath and stop worrying himself raw over whatever it was.

“Here. What d’you think of this?” Crowley flicked a sheet of paper at him, and Aziraphale pinned it to the table with his forefinger. 

It was a page from an art book, all sharp colors and glossy paper, and Aziraphale frowned. “I think it’s a rather racy painting of Cupid and Psyche.”

“Fff.” Crowley glared at him, then inhaled slowly and straightened up. “Look, it’s just… I’ve been thinking about what you asked for, a few weeks after we got our walking papers.”

Aziraphale’s cheeks turned scarlet, and he almost dropped his tea. “I thought we’d decided against that?”

Not that they’d talked about it, as such. He’d asked, and Crowley had looked as if Aziraphale had suddenly slapped him, and then they’d both by mutual agreement pretended Aziraphale had never said anything. Or at least, Aziraphale had assumed that’s what they were doing.

“Well.” Crowley’s mouth twisted into a new and interesting shape, and then he took another deep breath and tried to compose himself. “You don’t ask for much, angel. If you want something enough to tell me about it…” His lips twitched, and he looked away. “It’s just, you know, a matter of figuring it out, yeah?”

“Figuring it out?” Aziraphale echoed. 

There hadn’t been anything to figure out, had there? It had only been a passing flight of fancy, a fleeting thought of the first time he’d realized that he and Crowley were meant to be together. That Crowley had found something about it humiliating or painful had been a surprise then, but Aziraphale could guess at it now--the fear that it would only highlight the things that Crowley thought he had to keep out of sight, if he wanted Aziraphale to want him in return. The way it might rub the demon’s face precisely in the things he was most afraid of. Aziraphale had resolved to avoid similar topics, requests that might brush up against the same insecurities, and thought they were past it.

“Well, I can sort my wings out, if we keep the light low and you don’t make a point of breaking my concentration, but.” Crowley grimaced and gestured at his eyes. “I mean, gah. Never been able to do a blessed thing about these, and Satan knows I wasted a lot of down-time trying. Breaks the illusion right quick, dunnit?”

He nodded to the print in Aziraphale’s hand, and Aziraphale frowned when he saw what Crowley was getting at: the pretty white blindfold wrapped around Cupid’s eyes.

“So, not quite getting to make it with another angel, but… passable, d’you think?” Crowley shifted uncomfortably in his seat, waiting for Aziraphale to say something.

Aziraphale tried to formulate an answer around feeling as if he’d just blundered back into an ethereal portal. He had a sudden and uncomfortable pang of sympathy for all the times he’d said something to Crowley and gotten a grunted string of distress and high-pitched consonants in response.

“I’m sorry, getting to _what_?” he managed finally.

Crowley’s eyes widened slightly, and his shoulders slumped. “Er. Forget I said anything, angel. Back to the drawing board.”

He reached for the picture, and Aziraphale seized his hand. Crowley blinked at him, looking like he’d slink off and not come back for days if Aziraphale let go now.

“Crowley…”

“Come on, angel, there’s no need to make a production out of it,” Crowley said, forcing a smile to match his cajoling tone. The delicate, birdlike bones of his wrist shifted in Aziraphale’s hand as Crowley tested Aziraphale’s hold on him.

“Crowley, I don’t want--” Aziraphale shook his head. “Another _angel_?”

Crowley’s jaw worked, and he tried to pry his wrist out of Aziraphale’s grip, the attempt more in earnest this time compared to the exploratory twisting of a moment ago. Aziraphale didn’t let him go.

“White robes, white wings, halo?” Crowley asked finally, giving up in frustration. “Ringing any bells? I mean, there weren’t two times I dressed up like an extra in a Christmas play to bless somebody for you, were there?”

“No, but.” Aziraphale tried to wrap his head around how Crowley could possibly have thought he wanted someone else. “But. Crowley, I only. Ugh.” He rubbed his eyes with his free hand. “ _You_ , you ridiculous demon. You looked so lovely that day, just as you were. I don’t… why would I…” He stopped and tried to string together a coherent thought or two. “I don’t want anything that’s going to hide your wonderful eyes, Crowley. Not glasses, and certainly not a damned blindfold.”

“But.” Crowley looked around them frantically, like there might be an explanation hiding in the corner and he’d only missed it before. “Bless it, angel, you asked me to--”

“I wasn’t asking you to pretend to be an angel. I mean, obviously I was _then_ \--a divine revelation didn’t used to be delivered by the bloody postman.” 

Aziraphale threaded his fingers through Crowley’s, both hands holding onto him now. Who could Crowley have even thought he was asking the poor demon to impersonate? Aziraphale had been so long on Earth with no one but Crowley for companionship that the only angels he’d even know where to begin with these days were the ones who’d lately tried to kill him. No wonder Crowley had recoiled like he had, if that was what he’d thought Aziraphale was asking for. 

“But now, I only thought…” Aziraphale smiled slightly, reassuringly. “You looked so pretty in white, and you looked so pleased with yourself for looking well in it.”

“I looked like an ass, and you know it,” Crowley grumbled, brows furrowing and expression going wary. 

“You didn’t, and you know it,” Aziraphale retorted. He didn’t want to acknowledge the rapid-fire pulse beating away under his fingertips, the drawn bowstring line of Crowley’s shoulders. “I wanted to kiss you then, but I didn’t dare. We’d only just gotten the arrangement spelled out, after all, and I wasn’t sure I’d done the right thing with that all by itself, never mind more. I thought that maybe we could...” He shrugged and blushed. “That I could undo some of my past mistakes. All the times I should have reached for you but was too afraid.”

“I still looked like an ass,” Crowley said, crossing his free hand over his elbow and resting his chin on his forearm, glowering at Aziraphale. “Scrawny demon draped in a big sheet, trumpet tucked under my arm--”

“All right, you looked like a bit of an ass at that point,” Aziraphale conceded. Crowley had done it to annoy him, presenting himself for inspection in a get-up that mocked human artistic conventions of the time and leaving Aziraphale to sputter about current dress uniform regulations. “But once you stopped teasing me and tailored everything to your corporation, you looked so beautiful, Crowley. You know you did--you spent almost an hour admiring your reflection in that lake.”

Crowley stared at him, eyes narrowing. “I never did.”

“I thought the purple sash was a nice touch, and the golden sandals were…” Aziraphale’s blush darkened. The long, lean line of Crowley’s corporation had seemed endless. “Well, it’s a shame you never wore them when sandals were in style.”

“You asked me to handle that job for you, and then you spent the whole time hiding in the bushes spying on me?” Crowley asked, his expression unreadable.

Aziraphale shrugged diffidently. “You offered to do it for me, and… I mean, what sort of idiot trusts a demon without doing at least a little bit of verification? I knew by then how your head office felt about failure, Crowley--what sort of pressure you were under. So yes, I checked up on you. And, in addition to performing everything just as promised, you looked stunning doing it.”

Crowley’s face reddened, and he buried it in the crook of his elbow. “Angel!”

Aziraphale rubbed the back of his hand, fingers deliberate and soothing against that delicate skin. Absent an audience, Crowley’s vanity had turned playful and innocent, his delight in how he looked in the angelic finery simple and joyous. With no one to defy or fear, there had been no heat to it, no anger sharpening the edge of it. He’d been splendid, curious and happy in his exploration. 

It had been the first time that Aziraphale had known, sure and sudden as a stone striking him between the eyes, that Crowley wasn’t just loved but lovable, that anyone who saw Crowley as Aziraphale had been allowed to see him would love him just as Aziraphale loved him. That it wasn’t some grand sacrifice or cosmic mistake, that it was simply the unerring result of knowing Crowley.

“Especially,” Aziraphale said quietly, watching him, “when you let your hair go long and loose, and it showed almost scarlet against the white of your robe. Your eyes were gold as the bracelets on your wrists, and they shone like the sun, and you were so beautiful that I thought my heart might break with it.”

Crowley looked up and glared at him. “You’re doing it on purpose now, aren’t you?”

“Maybe a little,” Aziraphale allowed. He tugged at Crowley’s hand, and Crowley let him lift it so that he could kiss the back of it, Crowley’s flush going hotter as Aziraphale’s lips pressed to his skin. Aziraphale held Crowley’s hand to his cheek after a moment, smiling sadly. “I’m never going to ask you to be a placeholder for someone or something else, Crowley. I’ve wanted so much and so often since I was sent to Earth, but you were the only one I couldn’t bear to lose. You’ve been my only constant.”

Crowley grunted and looked away, his cheeks flaming and his tongue flicking out the way it did sometimes when Crowley wanted to transform his way out of a conversation.

“Is it really still so hard to hear it, love?” Aziraphale asked. It hurt to think it, made him ache with the pain of it. “You’ve been so good to me for so long. You’ve loved me for so long. Were you really so sure I wouldn’t love you like you deserved, when I loved you back?”

“’s not that, angel.” He glanced at Aziraphale, then away again. “It just… it’s too much sometimes, you know? Doesn’t feel real. Feels like a trick, or a dream, or that time I got the wrong mushrooms. Like it can’t last.”

“If I let go, will you come here instead of running away?” Aziraphale asked.

“I do not _run away_ from things. Unless they’re going to kill me, in which case it’s only sensible,” Crowley protested. Aziraphale raised an eyebrow and waited. “Fine, yes, I promise.”

Aziraphale let go of Crowley’s hand and spread his arms, and Crowley levered himself out of his chair and stalked around the table. Aziraphale pulled the demon down onto his lap and wrapped his arms around him.

Aziraphale rested his head on Crowley’s shoulder. “Does it feel more real than it did when we started?”

“Hn?” Crowley twisted around and leaned back to look him in the eye. “I… what?”

“Now. Does it feel more real, less like a trick, now than it did when we first started?”

Crowley scrunched up his face, then settled into Aziraphale’s arms again and reached up to press Aziraphale’s head back against his shoulder. His fingers combed through Aziraphale’s hair before settling on the crook of his neck, and Aziraphale couldn’t help the swell of love that ran through him.

“I suppose it… that is.” Crowley hissed quietly, almost to himself. “It feels about the same, but then there’s more to feel the same about. If that makes sense. Like when we first got back here, and everything was fine, and you kissed me, I was sure I was going to wake up in a pile of ash surrounded by empty gin bottles. But now when I think, oh, I’m hallucinating, in a few hours I’m going to come to in the middle of a pasture just off the Dowlings’ estate with two years left to go until Armageddon, it’s because you crawled into bed with me stark naked and turned your thermostat up just so I’d cuddle you harder and wanted to hear about all the ways I’d have got you off if I’d had half a chance.”

He slouched down, shoving more of himself against Aziraphale’s chest, and Aziraphale stroked his hair and sighed. 

“It’s real, love,” he said. “It’s not a trick. I asked you to dress in those robes because they pleased you and you were pretty in them, not because I want you any way but how you are. You’re not going to wake up alone, or be cast out. Not if you show me your fangs, or your scales, or your claws. I love you, and I’m going to keep loving you.”

Crowley grunted, but some of the sharpness bled out of his frame, and his fingertips hooked into the gaps of Aziraphale’s waistcoat. He hissed suddenly, his eyes going wide. “Are you warming yourself up again?”

“Depends.” Aziraphale smiled innocently. “Is it working?”

“You utter bastard of a holy heat lamp,” Crowley grumbled, making no move to slither off his lap. “You keep this up, I’m going next door and buying one of those Victoria’s Secret get-ups.”

“Oh, no,” Aziraphale said, barely keeping the laughter out of his voice. “Not a lacy nightgown. That would be awful.”

Crowley smirked at him. “Not a lacy nightgown, angel. One of those whole _outfits_ with the fluffy pink wings and the mesh robes.”

“I’m game if you are,” Aziraphale told him, kissing his forehead. “Just no blindfolds, hmm?”

Crowley scoffed at that, but there was a calculating look on his face when he settled more firmly in Aziraphale’s arms. And he was already calmer than he had been since Aziraphale had asked him over for tea, more at peace than he’d been for a few days, really. Poor thing--Aziraphale realized Crowley must have been chewing on the Cupid idea since at least the weekend. All that, because he’d thought Aziraphale could possibly want something more than he already had.

“No tricks, love. You already woke up.” Aziraphale smiled at him and held him tight and kissed him. “We both did.”


	5. White Robes

Aziraphale huffed and squirmed, his palms warm over his eyes. It felt like he’d been sitting on the edge of the bed for hours, getting his hopes up at every sigh or clicked tongue only to have them dashed again when Crowley scolded him for trying to jump the gun. 

“Can I look yet?” he asked plaintively.

“Remind me again, what patience is?” Crowley laughed.

“You’re enjoying this, you beast,” Aziraphale accused, half-turning toward the corner Crowley’s voice had come from this time.

“Anything but that, angel. I’d never enjoy myself, not doing something like this.” Aziraphale felt the prickle of a substantial demonic miracle in close proximity, dragging over his skin like Crowley’s nails. “All right, you can look.”

Aziraphale let his hands drop to his lap and opened his eyes, the small, anticipatory smile on his face vanishing as he took in the scene in front of him. Instead of his bedroom wall, there was a thick column of glowing, fluffy white clouds serving as a backdrop. It mellowed the red of Crowley’s hair and lent his skin a golden sheen, deepened the purple of his sash and made his sandals glint, made his robes glow all the brighter. Crowley’s half-spread wings were limned with golden fire and under that, a vivid, inviting cream that Aziraphale wanted nothing more than to bury his face in.

“Angel?” Crowley asked, his wings lowering slightly and a hesitant frown creasing his brow.

“Oh, Crowley, you’re magnificent,” Aziraphale breathed.

Crowley relaxed at that, his lips tugging up and his wings spreading farther. “Well, be at peace, angel, for I bring you glad tidings.”

“You don’t need to do the--”

“The gladdest of tidings, indeed,” Crowley interrupted, barely keeping a straight face around the smirk that kept trying to put in an appearance, “for lo, tomorrow the shop opens late and tonight I’m not wearing anything under these robes.”

“Shameless.” Aziraphale tried not to laugh and failed, and Crowley finally grinned, a sincere thing that echoed the smile he’d had the day Aziraphale had spied on him. It kindled a small, fierce fire in Aziraphale’s breast, and he wanted nothing more than to see it on Crowley’s face again and again for the rest of eternity. His hands curled around his knees, fingertips digging into the fine fabric of the tunic he’d settled on for this. “Crowley, dear, can I…?”

“I am but a messenger. Who am I to deny your desire for communion?” Crowley asked, cocking his hip and spreading his arms.

Aziraphale shook his head ruefully. He should have known Crowley’s penchant for theatrics would get the better of him, especially if it let him hide behind the slight fiction that he didn’t mean it, that it was as ridiculous a performance as if he’d dressed up in a mass-market costume with fake pink-feather wings and matching teddy. But an invitation was an invitation, and his hands longed to trace the curves of Crowley’s form. He got to his feet and closed the gap between them, fingertips finding the gaps in Crowley’s robe and running lightly over that delicate skin.

“You’re so beautiful like this,” Aziraphale said, circling him. The sash wound around his narrow waist was begging to be loosened, the soft ripple of his chiton an invitation to lift it and fit his palms to whatever he found beneath. Aziraphale gave into part of the urge, fitting himself against Crowley’s back, pressing himself into the space between those glowing wings, and kissed the back of his shoulder. “On display for me. Showing off for me. _Tempting_ me.”

Crowley shivered, then gasped when Aziraphale’s hands found his hips.

“I love you so much, Crowley,” Aziraphale said, kissing his way up to Crowley’s exposed throat. “May I touch your wings?”

Crowley hissed at that, the slow undulation of his body as he considered the request making Aziraphale’s fingers go tight on his hips. He still wasn’t sure if it was the intimacy or a simple physical sensitivity that made Crowley go so skittish the moment Aziraphale reached for his feathers, only that they’d finally found a situation where Crowley would at least entertain the idea.

“Gently,” Crowley said, after a moment.

“I’ll never be anything less with you,” Aziraphale promised. He ran his fingertips over the blade of Crowley’s wings, touch light as a breath, and Crowley stiffened against his chest. “Crowley? Too much?”

Crowley grunted and hissed, hands balling into fists at his sides. “Do it again.”

“Are you--”

“Fuck’s sake, angel!”

“Such language from a divine representative,” Aziraphale tutted. He raised his hands and repeated the move, unhurried and letting himself savor the feel of silken feathers against his skin. Crowley’s wings felt just as cool and smooth as they’d always looked, absent the current cosmetic alterations, and Aziraphale wondered if he’d ever get to groom them.

Crowley stretched his wings, pushing them more firmly into Aziraphale’s hands, and he let his fingers curl around the edges, palms resting on the coverts.

“Being a divine representative is very trying sometimes,” Crowley mumbled, glancing over his shoulder. “You have any idea what it took to get Jonah to Nineveh?”

“Jonah wasn’t…” Aziraphale paused. He’d thought that was a bullet well-dodged, not getting saddled with that mess. Especially after he’d heard about the bit with the whale--it was the sort of thing to put a person off sushi for good, which would never do. “Really, Crowley? Thwarting other angels the second my back is turned?”

“Wasn’t a proper thwarting, not really,” Crowley said, his wings bobbing under Aziraphale’s hands in an approximated shrug. “Just thought it was a bit, ah, well. Funny? You know, the poor bastard thinking he could just catch the next ox-cart and outrun God. Figured if he was going to make a go of it, least I could do was front him travel expenses and see how it shook out.”

Aziraphale let his hands rest on Crowley’s scapulars, and Crowley gasped and arched into the touch. Aziraphale could feel his cheeks going scarlet even as he dipped his head to suck at Crowley’s throat, the rucked fabric of Crowley’s robe rich as velvet where it brushed Aziraphale’s face.

“I’ve wanted to do this since Giza. Do you remember? You were sunbathing,” Aziraphale said, his voice low. Crowley’s wings had been spread wide and wonderful, the bright morning sun showing up the deep purples and blues and bronzes hidden within the black to absolute perfection.

“Is that why you threw that utter fit about me frightening a few poor construction workers?” Crowley asked, a hoarse edge blunting his words. “Angry at yourself for lusting after a demon?”

“I wasn’t lusting after you,” Aziraphale protested, his cheeks going warmer. He let his fingers sink into those wonderful feathers, and Crowley made a noise that invited him to keep going even as his frame tensed against it. “I just thought your wings were pretty and wanted to play with them.”

“Oh, is _that_ all?” Crowley shuddered, and Aziraphale felt his skin pebble under Aziraphale’s lips.

“I wanted to play with your hair, too,” Aziraphale said. He made himself let go of Crowley’s wings and bury his fingers in Crowley’s hair, tilting Crowley’s head to one side so he could kiss more of the demon’s neck. It wasn’t such a mystery, now that Aziraphale thought about it--he still had his own moments when Crowley’s regard was unbearable even as he craved it with a dizzying intensity, when he wanted Crowley to keep touching him at the same time that his skin was too sensitive to tolerate it. “I was so happy you never hid it away, even when wigs were in fashion.”

Crowley pulled his wings in, folding them almost against Aziraphale’s sides, and Aziraphale ran the fingers of his free hand lightly along the blade of one wing again. The illusion of ivory feathers and gold fire didn’t fade around his touch, and he couldn’t help but admire the way it made Crowley’s hair stand out in such sharp contrast, red curls over white feathers. He thought of Crowley stretched out on his belly, nude as the Cupid in the painting he’d picked as an example, hair spilling loose and wild across white wings.

“I might need a… a token,” Aziraphale stammered, tripping over himself in a sudden burst of desire. They hadn’t gotten any farther than the costume, the basic scenario, and left the rest to shake out however they wanted in the heat of it. Of course, Aziraphale had been called on to do so few revelations that he didn’t know what they really entailed. Not that it mattered, he supposed--Crowley had only ever done the one, and neither of them were inclined to be sticklers for verisimilitude in circumstances like these. “To show everyone that I spoke to an angel.”

He plucked at the flowing ends of Crowley’s sash, fingers ready to undo the loose knot cinching it around Crowley’s waist as soon as Crowley let him.

“If the people will not hear your words, if people raise up their voices and say ‘Surely, he has dreamt this, for no angel would give such a revelation to him,’ then take my girdle, and show it to them so that they may believe,” Crowley intoned, his voice breathy and his skin warm under Aziraphale’s mouth.

Aziraphale had the sash undone in a heartbeat, shaking, eager fingers burrowing between the robe and the belt, unwinding it and casting it over the bed. The chiton hung loose on Crowley’s lean frame then, loose and begging to be unpinned.

“What if I show them the girdle, and they still won’t hear me?” Aziraphale asked, already bunching the robe in his hands. Crowley trembled and let his head fall further to the side, stretching out his throat. The golden pins at his shoulders all but glowed in the soft light.

“Then take my robe, and show it to them so that they may hear,” Crowley murmured. 

Aziraphale unfastened one pin, and the loose cloth rippled like water as it fell away from one shoulder. He kissed his way along Crowley’s newly-exposed skin, and he swallowed thickly when a glance down Crowley’s chest revealed a distinctly unangelic interest in the proceedings tenting the fabric at his hips. He got a hand under the slipping hem of Crowley’s robe, hiking it up on one side until he could curl his hand around that burning shaft. Crowley moaned and snapped his hips forward, half-thrust aborted when he remembered himself and his part in their pantomime, and Aziraphale let his fingers slide along the length of Crowley’s cock. Not as generous as the demon usually manifested, shorter and thinner and…

Aziraphale flushed to his roots and fumbled the other pin open. He let the robe fall away completely, stepping back so that Crowley could shimmy free of it where it caught on his sandals. Aziraphale tossed the robe aside to join the sash, and he let his eyes rake over Crowley’s sharp frame, all coiled strength and taut nerves and silken skin.

“Oh, blessed messenger,” Aziraphale said, smiling around the sudden shyness clenching at his heart. “I beg you to interceded for me, as I am but a lowly peasant. I would supplicate you--”

“Would you, now?” Crowley asked, his voice hellfire and honey and his pupils going almost round.

Aziraphale slid carefully to his knees in front of Crowley, licking his lips and stroking careful fingers up the outside of Crowley’s thighs, over his hips, to sink into the slight give of his lean ass. Crowley stared down at him, transfixed, and Aziraphale smiled up at him and batted his eyelashes with an exaggerated innocence that made Crowley’s jaw fall open.

“I would _petition_ you,” Aziraphale said, leaning forward and letting Crowley’s cock slide over his cheek, lips brushing Crowley’s belly. 

The demon hissed, his hands going to Aziraphale’s hair, resting on his crown even as nervous fingertips stroked through short curls. Aziraphale’s own cock ached in response, ached at the thought of Crowley letting him have this. Aziraphale on his knees made Crowley antsy, turned him on and made him frantic in equal measure; the few times he’d tried to suck Crowley off like this had transitioned quickly and decisively to the bed, or the floor, or Crowley’s arms.

“Would you hear my case?” Aziraphale asked, nosing lightly at the crease of Crowley’s upper thigh, that tender juncture of leg and hip.

“For the rest of eternity, angel,” Crowley said, eyes never leaving Aziraphale’s.

Aziraphale flushed and smiled, then opened his mouth and let Crowley’s cock slide between his lips, over his tongue, resting in his mouth like a benediction. Crowley gasped, eyes going wide and bright and fingers going tight on the back of Aziraphale’s skull. Aziraphale sucked slowly, tenderly, his jaw working almost lazily around the mouthful Crowley had fashioned for him. Then Crowley’s dawn-bright wings were curling around them, wrapping them both in a terrible, intimate brilliance that Aziraphale shivered at even as he wanted it to never end. There was nothing but the two of them, his mouth on Crowley’s cock and Crowley’s fingers in his hair, their eyes never straying from one another’s.

“You’re so blindingly beautiful like this, angel,” Crowley murmured, fingers undemanding as they carded through Aziraphale’s hair. “Every star I ever made pales in comparison.”

Aziraphale flicked his tongue over the bitter-salt of Crowley’s slit, and Crowley keened at it, golden eyes flashing and a lovely flush stealing down his chest. One hand came to rest on Aziraphale’s shoulder as Crowley bowed, hair hanging across his face like a veil, and Aziraphale marveled at how much easier it was to watch Crowley come apart like this. On the floor or the bed, the demon had the opportunity to writhe like a snake at war with itself, barely kept still by Aziraphale’s hands on his thighs, his hips, his belly. Those times when Crowley refused to be only the target of Aziraphale’s affections, it was impossible to see anything of the demon’s face at all, his head tucked between Aziraphale’s thighs in turn and his mouth busy teasing spine-melting bursts of reciprocal bliss from Aziraphale’s corporation.

Now he was free to admire the color of Crowley’s cheeks, the way his eyes sparked and glowed and never left Aziraphale’s face, the tension that rippled through Crowley’s whole corporation at the slightest flick of Aziraphale’s tongue or unexpected bit of suction when he flexed his jaw. When Aziraphale pulled back slightly, letting Crowley’s cock slide almost all the way out of his mouth, the demon whimpered and tried to follow him, a pleading, thready, half-frantic, _please_ falling from his lips like a prayer.

Aziraphale hummed and relented, holding still as Crowley thrust gently against his tongue, Crowley’s _I love you_ s tangling up with _you’re so good at this, angel_ and _radiant, beautiful, perfect_ and _my silver-tongued darling_. Aziraphale let one hand fall, slipping down his belly to his own cock, and Crowley tugged at his ear.

“Wait for it, angel,” he panted. “I’ll make it worth it, I promise.”

Aziraphale’s cock throbbed at the thought, the promise, the heat in Crowley’s eyes as he made it. Crowley asking him to wait made it almost impossible to stop his hand from darting lower, seizing his member in a needy grip, and finishing right then and there. Crowley’s wings tightening around them gave him something else to focus on, and he reached up and stroked Crowley’s tertiaries instead of his own cock.

“ _Oh._ ” Crowley’s eyes went wide and dark, fingers spasming in Aziraphale’s hair, and then Crowley was spending onto the back of his tongue and down his throat.

Aziraphale let his hand drop, curling it around the back of Crowley’s thigh instead, and sucked idly until Crowley fell back a step with a hoarse cry.

He swallowed and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, looking up through lowered lashes. “What did you have in mind, then?”

Crowley stared at him, brain clearly and decidedly resetting, and then blinked a few times. 

“Oh, you lovely menace,” he managed. “I.” He tilted his head, then looked at his own wings as if seeing them for the first time and frowned. “Bless it, I don’t remember.”

Crowley flexed the wing Aziraphale had touched, idly and without seeming to realize he was doing it, and looked around the room. His gaze landed back on Aziraphale after a long moment, intense and inescapable for all that Crowley still seemed a bit dazed from the climax Aziraphale had coaxed out of him.

“What would you like, angel?” he asked, stooping to pull Aziraphale to his feet. His hands skated over Aziraphale’s skin, gentle and quick and covetous, and then his lips were on Aziraphale’s throat, sucking and kissing and nibbling. “Oh, you incomparable beauty, what I wouldn’t give you if only you asked it of me. Anything, angel--all you have to do is say, and we’ll do it.”

“I see my petition’s been granted, then,” Aziraphale laughed, giddy with Crowley’s closeness and Crowley’s eagerness and Crowley’s pellmell rush of assurances.

“Was there ever any doubt when you presented it so prettily?” Crowley purred, rucking up Aziraphale’s tunic. “Oh! I could sit in your lap--”

“Shh, love,” Aziraphale said, tilting his head up ever so slightly to quiet Crowley with a kiss. “Just let me, won’t you?”

Crowley smiled at him, bright and beaming and so loving that Aziraphale couldn’t believe there’d ever been a time when he’d thought demons weren’t capable of it. He guided Crowley to the edge of the bed, then pressed him down and knelt at his feet. The sandals showed off Crowley’s slender calves to perfect effect, and the demon wriggled and tried to keep still as Aziraphale’s fingers skimmed over the bones of his ankle, his knee, then down his shin to land on the knotted golden thong. Aziraphale pressed a light kiss to the tender spot just inside Crowley’s knee as his nails dug into the knot, loosening it.

“Angel,” Crowley breathed, hair cascading over his shoulders as he looked down at Aziraphale. 

Aziraphale couldn’t resist reaching up and twining his fingers in it, tugging Crowley down for a kiss. Crowley was reluctant to straighten up again, reluctant to stray too far from Aziraphale’s lips. He laid his hand flat against the demon’s chest, that cracked-open heart beating steadily under his sternum, and pushed him back. He slipped the first shoe off, then turned to the other one. This time his kiss landed halfway up Crowley’s thigh, and he tried not to smile at the way Crowley’s cock was already stirring back to life.

“Now who’s insatiable?” he laughed, longing thickening his voice.

“I’d have to be made of stone or carved of ice not to want more of you, angel,” Crowley told him, and there was no trace of irony or teasing in it. “I could drown myself in you, bury myself in you, and die happy and without regret.”

“Well, let’s hope it doesn’t come to that,” Aziraphale said, sliding Crowley’s last sandal off. He joined him on the bed, then kissed him, a temptation woven of teeth and tongues and plush red lips. “Lie down on your stomach and spread your wings for me?”

Crowley made an incoherent, quiet noise but did as he asked, unfurling his wings across the coverlet and resting his cheek on his folded arms. Aziraphale sat back on his heels and drank in the sight, Crowley’s red hair showing up auburn and gold against white feathers, the demon’s face relaxed in repose, those pale wings radiant against his blankets. Crowley looked even more like a wisp of a thing like this, fragile and delicate and breakable, all assurance that he had fire and fangs and a half dozen tricks up his sleeve vanished behind the illusion. 

Aziraphale swallowed around the tightness in his throat, that smothered instinct to guard and protect stirring in his breast. It had been intolerable, terrifying, feeling that way about a demon. It was terrifying even now, with Crowley his to keep and settling more easily into it with every passing week, but there was a promise in it, too. 

Aziraphale ran his hand up the inside of Crowley’s calf, pausing at his knee, and Crowley spread his thighs wider in invitation, a questioning glance thrown over his shoulder at Aziraphale. Those eyes were merely curious, without expectation or demand, and Aziraphale squeezed Crowley’s pale flesh soothingly and smiled. When he moved again, it was to straddle Crowley’s hips and brush his hair off his back with careful fingers. Crowley squirmed under him, sinew going tight between the generous swell of Aziraphale’s thighs, and Aziraphale reflexively pressed him firm against the bed.

The needy whimper that escaped the demon’s throat at that made Aziraphale close his eyes and breathe deep until the wave of desire passed. How had there ever been a time when he hadn’t wanted Crowley with him always? In his bed, in his arms, by his side--it didn’t matter, so long as the demon stayed.

“Hold still for me, won’t you, love?” Aziraphale asked, letting up before he got his answer.

Crowley shot him a reproachful look, and Aziraphale couldn’t help a fond smile when he saw Crowley go to stick out his tongue and then subside without doing it, suddenly remembering the ruse he’d conjured. He dug his fingers into the knotted muscle of Crowley’s back, kneading, and watched as the reproach suddenly gave way to a flutter of unexpected pleasure.

“Oh.” Crowley stretched out under him, and Aziraphale let his hands wander, stroking and rubbing at the narrow curve of Crowley’s back. “Oh, angel.”

“Someone in the habit of having the most delicious ideas brought up the question of what sort of noises a backrub might provoke,” Aziraphale said, running his thumbs up Crowley’s spine from where it dipped to meet his hips.

“Probably get better ones rubbing something else at the moment,” Crowley hissed, cocking his hips in a way that made Aziraphale’s hands go tight on them.

“Wanton thing,” Aziraphale chuckled. He pressed Crowley back down, letting his weight rest on his palms, and Crowley groaned, low and throaty and _needy_ , as Aziraphale flattened him back against the bed. “There we are.”

Crowley let his head fall back across his forearms, hair spilling beautifully over his shoulders and his wings, and Aziraphale leaned forward and planted a kiss between them. Crowley flexed under him, cheeks going red as he gasped.

“So patient for me,” Aziraphale cooed, smiling as Crowley preened under the praise instead of twitching away from it. “You’re behaving yourself so well right now, Crowley.”

Crowley grunted as if Aziraphale had asked a favor, then snapped his fingers, a languid, unhurried gesture that left Aziraphale startling when his tunic vanished. Crowley looked back over his shoulder, eyes soft and appreciative as they swept over Aziraphale’s belly and down to his aching cock. “Patience is a virtue, angel--you can’t expect too much of it from the likes of me.”

“I think you look wonderfully virtuous at the moment,” Aziraphale said, rubbing the swell of muscle to either side of Crowley’s wings. The demon sighed and went limp under his ministrations, and Aziraphale couldn’t help but kiss him again. “I can’t believe you thought I’d want your beautiful eyes covered. There’s always so much love in them, darling. You don’t know how I miss it, when you’re curled up next to me and asleep.” 

Aziraphale kneaded the muscle a bit harder, and Crowley groaned at it, wings fluttering against the blanket.

“You don’t know how amazing it is, when you wake up and look at me again.”

“Angel,” Crowley laughed, turning his head so Aziraphale couldn’t see him blush. It backfired; Aziraphale carded his fingers through the curls the move draped across his neck, knowing full well how red Crowley’s cheeks were turning by the pink tinging the thin, delicate skin at the nape of his neck. “Play fair!”

He squirmed, the back of his wing brushing Aziraphale’s ribs, and it was too much. Crowley was too beautiful like this, too open, too loving, and Aziraphale couldn’t stand to wait any longer.

“Crowley, darling, _please_ \--can I spill on your back?”

“Onanism?” Crowley tutted, flexing his thighs against Aziraphale’s knees and raising an eyebrow. “At a time like this?”

“I want to see it on your skin,” Aziraphale whispered, lips moving against the curl of Crowley’s ear. The demon’s eyes went dark and wanting, and his mouth fell open but couldn’t form a response. He nodded sharply, finally, and Aziraphale stretched out along Crowley’s back, careful of his wings but unable to keep his lips off Crowley’s for another minute.

Crowley twisted under him to reach back as Aziraphale tilted his head down, clever fingers wrapping around Aziraphale’s knee. Aziraphale got his own hand around his cock, and he couldn’t help the groan that made his mouth go slack against Crowley’s.

“Come on, angel,” Crowley murmured, kissing his cheek. “Let me see how devoted you really are.”

“Tell me you love me,” Aziraphale said, thrusting into his fist, hips stuttering and heart pounding and those white wings so bright spread across his bed.

“I love you more than I’ve ever loved anything, angel,” Crowley said, canting his hips to press himself up against Aziraphale’s body. His voice was quiet and unmistakably sincere. “I fell in love with the sun when it shone on your face, and the moon when its light touched your hair, and the stars when you looked at them and smiled. I’ve never savored food except when you ate with me, wine except when you drank with me. Apart from you, I find no rest, no peace. Bliss exists only in your arms--”

Aziraphale cried out and came, spending in long, thick spurts against Crowley’s back. He panted into the crook of Crowley’s neck, Crowley’s lips on his forehead, and tried to prop himself up on shaking arms to keep his weight off Crowley’s wings.

Crowley tucked one wing against his side, maneuvered them so that Aziraphale could stretch alongside him on the bed, and then flopped it back over Aziraphale’s heaving chest once he’d rolled off the demon. His smile was unbearably fond as his hand found Aziraphale’s and squeezed.

Aziraphale tangled their fingers together and caught his breath, the warmth that had suffused his corporation at his climax not abating. His eyes found the white slick of his come decorating Crowley’s back, and he flushed hot and went to miracle it away.

“Not how you thought it would be?” Crowley asked, his voice pitched low and hesitation clouding his face.

“Just that bit,” Aziraphale said, cheeks going darker. He’d wanted to… what? Mark Crowley? Claim him? Prove to himself that Crowley would let him? After the last six thousand years, there was nothing left to demonstrate. They belonged to each other, with each other. There was nothing they wouldn’t give, nothing they wouldn’t do, for each other. “I didn’t ask you to dress in angelic raiment just so I could debauch you.”

“And here I thought that was the fun part,” Crowley told him, flicking out his tongue. He reached for his robe, wound it around his hand, and wiped himself clean, then tossed it to the floor. The illusion faded slowly, the clouds vanishing and the golden light dimming and Crowley’s wings taking on their normal glossy black. Aziraphale ran a careful hand over the tips of his feathers, Crowley’s eyes never leaving his face.

“I just… you were so pleased with yourself, that day.” Aziraphale let his hand settle on Crowley’s hip. “And you were so beautiful and so charming. It made me feel a little rebellious, thinking of all the sneaking around we’d had to do, all the play-acting about being enemies and thwarting each other, all the excuses I had to make, when anyone at all should have been able to look at you and see that there was no harm in it.”

Crowley made a face. “I can’t tell whether I should be flattered that you were so smitten or put out that you thought so little of my wiles.”

“What did you ever do that was so awful, without anyone making you?” Aziraphale asked. Crowley made a different and far more bitter face at that, and a twitch of tension shot through his body. Aziraphale sighed and tightened his hold on Crowley’s hip. “Yes, I know, you’re the serpent of Eden and I underestimate you at my own peril. But you know what I mean. You never took pleasure in destroying things. You never looked on the world and its people and hated them. You’ve probably got a better track record there than some of my colleagues, honestly.”

Crowley grudgingly relaxed again, wing curling possessively around Aziraphale’s chest. “You really spent that whole time in Giza getting yourself all hot and bothered over me warming up in the mornings?”

“My dear, you couldn’t even be bothered to wear a loincloth while you were at it,” Aziraphale reminded him. He hadn’t meant to make a habit of it, but he’d been fascinated by how the colors seemed to change as the sun rose. And then, after a few days, he’d been deniably fascinated by how the thin linen robe fell away to reveal the demon’s slim frame, how much of the serpent there was in Crowley’s movements in those hours, how easily he might scoop Crowley up and carry him off to some soft patch with a bit more privacy if Aziraphale had ever been brave enough to approach him. He’d even thought, once or twice, that Crowley knew he was there and was doing it deliberately, putting on a show for him. “I rather imagined you might be trying to tempt me with it.”

“Mmm.” Crowley grabbed a pillow and stuffed it half under his chest, digging his chin into it so he could watch the color rise on Aziraphale’s face. “Seems it worked.”

“Why didn’t you keep the robes, or something close to, if you liked them so much?” Aziraphale asked, looking away. He’d had time to wonder, in between Crowley bringing it up again and them picking a time to do this. “I understand it would have raised some questions, but it’s not like you’re answering to anyone now…”

He hadn’t expected much of a change, not with the degree to which Crowley did as he pleased, when he pleased, even with Hell’s wrath ready to strike at any moment. His own wardrobe had only shifted a few degrees, after all--darker blues, brighter pinks, spots of red and green and earth when he was feeling really daring--but Crowley had always had a much more pronounced sense of fashion as performance.

“It’s not really that I liked them,” Crowley said after a moment, looking away. “More that… I dunno. Before the Fall, before humans, we weren’t really _angels_ , were we? There was God, and then there was us, and nobody really had a keen sense of what it meant to _be_ us. Like we didn’t have an idea of what it was like to be spirit inhabiting flesh, because no one had stuck that one on the agenda yet. No concept of what we were, because we were all there was, and nobody could imagine anything different. Makes things from back then seem a little hazy, I suppose, like I don’t really remember what I looked like back then. Faffing around in that robe, I could kind of picture it.”

“Oh.” He should have known, shouldn’t he? Should have known it would be something like that, and he’d seen it and asked for this.

Crowley glanced at him, brows furrowing, then grimaced. “Never mind, angel. It was--”

“No,” Aziraphale said quickly, rolling over to kiss him before he could misinterpret it, before he could pull away. “Thank you for telling me. I just forget sometimes, how much happened before, er.”

“Principalities existed?” Crowley supplied. “You didn’t miss much. Most of it felt like a dream, really, like it could have happened all at once or over millions of years and we wouldn’t have known the difference. Things didn’t start feeling solid until She decided to roll out humanity. Everyone finally woke up.” He smiled at Aziraphale, lopsided and tender, then shrugged and looked away again. “You were there for all the best bits, I promise.”

“Did you like what you saw?” Aziraphale asked, wanting the answer to be a firm _yes_. If only Crowley could see himself as Aziraphale saw him, just for a little while, how many scars might it wipe away?

Crowley eyed him, a spark of mischief firing in those slit pupils, and then flicked out his tongue. Aziraphale groaned inwardly and braced himself. “Turns out, angel, I was probably the sexiest power in the whole choir.”

“I had to ask,” Aziraphale murmured.

“You don’t think I was?” Crowley feigned offense, sticking out his lower lip, and Aziraphale couldn’t help but kiss him again.

“I think you’re ridiculous, and generous to a fault, and that I love you,” he said, when it finally seemed safe to let Crowley up for a dazed, smiling breath. “Thank you, Crowley. For everything.”

“I’d give you everything you ever wanted, if I could,” Crowley told him, sighing. He folded his wings back and gathered Aziraphale into his arms. “Wasn’t kidding about that bit, angel.”

“Oh, my dear.” Aziraphale couldn’t help but laugh at that. He brushed his lips over Crowley’s, then kissed him hard and deep. “You _have_ , you ridiculous serpent. You have.”


End file.
